Till Death Do Us Tart

by Ellie Alexander

  “Me?” I gulped. “Why would Clarissa want to poison me?”

  Thomas furrowed his brow. “No idea, but Adam insists that he witnessed the entire thing. Says he’ll take a polygraph. Swear under oath, blah, blah, blah.”

  Carlos puffed out his chest. “Who is this Clarissa, Julieta?”

  I swallowed. “She’s the wife of my architect.”

  “And did you feud?”

  “Did we feud? No. I barely know her. I mean, I will say that she’s been pretty icy every time we’ve interacted but I think that’s just her personality.”

  Carlos and Thomas shared a look.

  Thomas brushed some crumbs from his hands and stood. “We’re going to follow up on it. I’ll keep you posted, but in the meantime, I would recommend keeping your distance from Clarissa and Roger. At least until we can see if there’s any validity to Adam’s claim.”

  “How am I supposed to keep my distance from Roger? He’s working on Torte, almost around the clock right now.”

  “Good point. I want you to bring Carlos or someone with you when you interact with him, and do not mention anything about the investigation. It’s probably nothing, but we can’t take any chances. Especially since a woman has been murdered.”

  “Do you think there’s some kind of a connection with Torte?” I tried to think back through every conversation I had had with Roger. Unless I was missing something, our relationship had been smooth. The entire renovation process had been seamless thus far. Roger and I had never had a disagreement. He had commented on more than one occasion about how easy it had been working with Mom and me.

  Thomas walked toward the front door. “It’s too soon to say. Like I said, just keep an eye out and be extra cautious until I can get you an update, okay?” His eyes were filled with concern.

  Carlos stood and shook Thomas’s hand. “Thank you for this information. Ramiro and I will not leave Julieta’s side. I will promise you that.” They shared a look of solidarity.

  “Good.” Thomas gave me a nod and walked outside.

  Carlos returned to the table. “This is not good. I do not understand why this Clarissa would want to harm you.”

  “I don’t either. Honestly, I’m not used to people not liking me.” I paused. “Except for maybe Richard Lord.”

  “The baboon.” Carlos chuckled. “Sí, he is of no worry. He is, how do you say it? Full of hot air.”

  “Right.” I noticed Ramiro fiddling with his napkin. I didn’t want to worry him. “I bet that Adam is lying to try and shift suspicion to someone else. Clarissa might not want to hang out with me, but there’s no way she would try to poison me. She’s the head of the arts council and well respected in town. I can’t picture her ruining her reputation. And what would be her motivation?”

  Carlos raised one dark eyebrow. “Maybe she is jealous. You have been spending time with her husband, no?”

  “For work. My relationship with Roger has been strictly professional. He’s at least twenty years older than me.”

  “This is my point, Julieta. You are a beautiful, young woman. What wife would want her husband spending so much time with you? And then you make him a delicious pastry—ah. I see the possibility now.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I couldn’t believe Carlos would even suggest that Clarissa would have a reason to worry about me and her husband.

  “No. I’m serious. A woman in love—protecting her marriage—she could be fierce. She could be deadly.” He loosened his leather belt and gave me a knowing look.

  “Carlos.” I motioned to Ramiro who nodded in agreement with his dad. “Come on, this is me we’re talking about. I promise you that Roger has no interest in me beyond talking about Sheetrock and flooring.”

  “I understand that, but I am saying that his wife might not. Thomas is right. Ramiro and I will be your guardians.”

  I tried to protest, but Carlos began picking up our dinner dishes and went to the kitchen to make us espressos. On rare occasions when we both had a break in food service on the ship, we would meet in the lounge for Spanish coffees. The rich, boozy drink was one of Carlos’s specialties. His philosophy was that anytime was a good time for coffee, and a spiked coffee was that much better.

  “Do you want me to add a touch of spice to your espresso?” he asked with a sultry wink.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” I wanted to keep my head as clear as possible. I was fairly confident that Adam must be lying, but was there a chance that the poison had been meant for me? I shuddered at the thought.

  Not long after we finished our espressos and slices of wedding cake, Ramiro began to yawn. “We should get you to bed,” I said.

  He grinned and stretched. “Too much swimming.”

  “That will do it. As will the mountain air.” I smiled. “I’m tired too.” In truth, between Carlos’s strong espresso and the newest information on the case I was wide awake. I had already formulated a plan in my head. As soon as Carlos and Ramiro were asleep, I was going to meet Lance. I went to my bedroom and shot him a quick text: Meet at Puck’s in thirty minutes?

  He replied immediately with: YES!

  Getting past Carlos and Ramiro wasn’t a problem. They were both out immediately. I couldn’t believe that either of them could crash so quickly after a shot of espresso. Then I had to remind myself that they were still adjusting to West Coast time. I made my way to Puck’s Pub where Lance was already waiting with a martini in hand. The pub was themed like an old-world tavern with warm wood accents and giant keg barrels for tables.

  “Darling, what took you so long? It’s been ages.” He tipped his martini.

  “It’s been ten minutes.”

  He brushed me off and escorted me to a high bar table near the back of the pub. “Do tell, what is the latest?”

  I filled him in on what I had just learned from Thomas.

  “A woman scorned. How very Shakespearean.” Lance threw his hand to his forehead.

  “How is Clarissa a woman scorned? Nothing has happened between Roger and me, nor will it ever.”

  “But she doesn’t know that.”

  “Now you sound like Carlos.”

  “Listen to that dreamy husband of yours, Juliet.” Lance paused when a waiter stopped by our table to ask if I wanted anything to drink.

  “Just a water, thanks.”

  Lance scoffed. “Boring. You should have a martini. It will help loosen you up.”

  “No way.” I assured the waiter that I only wanted a glass of water. “Weren’t you the one saying that you weren’t drinking to keep your head clear?”

  “Details. Details.” Lance fiddled with his twist of lemon. “They do make a mean martini here. It’s ice-cold, with my favorite gin. Perfection.”

  “Do you really think that Clarissa has it out for me?”

  He drummed his long fingers on the top of the distressed-wood table. “I think we have to consider that it’s a possibility. Clarissa isn’t the warmest woman in town, but she did seem to take a particular dislike to you. Then again, she’s quite revered in the art community.”

  “Exactly. What would her motivation be?”

  Lance stared hard at me. “Let’s see. Envy. The lines dotting her once flawless face, widening hips, graying roots. Shall I continue?”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Well, in that case, let me tell you what I’ve learned while you’ve been soaking up the sun today.” For effect, he took a long sip of his drink. “I went and I had a tête-à-tête with Sarah, the office manager, about Jarvis.”

  “And?”

  “Patience, darling. Patience.” Lance waved the waiter over to order a second martini. “According to Sarah, my brother hired Jarvis about a month ago. He hasn’t been with the Brown Family Group for long. I find it quite interesting that right about the time that my father took a turn for the worse, my brother happened to hire his new ‘lawyer’ and, believe me, I use that term loosely.”

  “You think there’s a connection?”

&n
bsp; “I know it.” Lance handed the waiter his empty drink glass. “Megan agreed. She said that the first thing the two of those goons did was have a private meeting with my father. She was sure that’s when his will was changed, which is elder abuse by the way. There is no way he was of sound mind or body when he signed the new paperwork. You can tell by his signature. I don’t think he could even hold the pen. There’s no way it’s going to hold up in court. Believe me, I’ll sue.”

  “Right.” I felt a headache coming on. “I guess it’s good news that this backs you up.”

  “True, but it doesn’t change the fact that my father is dead and I’m convinced my brother helped push him off the cliff, so to speak.”

  Lance’s fresh martini arrived in a frosty glass. “You and I need to talk and see what we can get out of him. And Adam. Did Thomas tell you if they are keeping him downtown or up in Medford?”

  I shook my head. “He didn’t say.”

  “Well, then the minute I finish my drink, let’s take a little walk, shall we?” With that Lance knocked back his drink.

  “Are you going to be able to walk?” I asked. If I had had two martinis that fast I would barely be able to stand, let alone walk.

  “With you at my side, of course.” Lance looped his arm through mine and we headed for the police station, which was nothing more than a small office on the corner of the plaza. Lance quivered when we knocked on the front door.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Memories. Bad memories.”

  I knew he was referencing the time he had to spend locked up in the supply closet when he had been a suspect in a murder investigation.

  No one answered, which must have meant that Thomas or Detective Kerry had booked Adam in the main jail in Medford.

  “Oh well, it was worth a shot.”

  “Darling, we’re not done. We’re just getting started. The night is young.”

  I glanced at my watch; it was after eleven. “It’s not exactly young.”

  He tugged me in the opposite direction. “Let’s go get my car and take another quick jaunt up to Medford.”

  “Lance, you can’t drive. You just chugged two martinis.”

  “Oh please, I didn’t chug them, and you can drive.”

  “What are we going to do in Medford?”

  “A little snooping.” He practically dragged me across the plaza. We hoofed up Pioneer Street. I could hear the chorus swelling to a crescendo from the outdoor show at the Elizabethan theater. They must have been about to reach the final song. The music swelled and the audience began to applaud.

  Lance stopped on the sidewalk in front of the bricks and cupped one hand over his ear. “The bass player is off again.”

  “What?” I stopped and listened. The music sounded masterful to my untrained ear.

  “Right there.” Lance tapped his free hand in the air to the beat. “I’m going to have a word with the conductor first thing tomorrow. I’ve told him at least a dozen times that he’s been late, which is throwing the entire company off.” He yanked me up the hill to his waiting car and opened the driver’s side for me.

  “Where am I going?” I asked, sliding behind the wheel. I wasn’t sure why I was allowing Lance to direct me, but I knew that my adrenaline was running too high to sleep. I might as well see if I could learn anything more about Megan’s death.

  “Megan’s office.”

  “But what about the police? They probably have it roped off.”

  “A technicality. That’s never stopped us in the past.”

  He was right, but this felt different. Snooping in a dead woman’s office wouldn’t look good for either of us. What I really needed was a hot shower and a good night’s sleep, but adrenaline pulsed through me as we drove north toward Medford again. When we arrived at the strip mall, police tape stretched in front of the door. “See, I told you.”

  Lance didn’t listen. He was out of the car in one fluid motion and strolling straight for the door. He lifted the edge of the yellow caution tape and motioned for me to go inside.

  “Why do I have to go first?”

  “Ladies are always first.” He smirked.

  I ducked under the tape. The door was unlocked. Had it only been this morning that we’d found Megan’s body? I tried to calm the unsettled feeling growing in my stomach. This was a bad idea. What were we doing?

  “What are we looking for?” I whispered to Lance.

  He removed a flashlight from his pocket. “Evidence, darling. Evidence.” He ran the light along the ugly shag carpet in a zigzagging pattern.

  The chances of us finding something were slim. The police had scoured every square inch of the dingy office. Fingerprint-powder residue coated Megan’s desk and filing cabinet. It smelled musty and the scent of cigarettes was more pronounced than it had been the last time we were here. I was about to drag Lance back outside when light flooded the room.

  Someone was here. The car’s headlights burst through the front window.

  “Duck!” Lance shouted.

  We both dropped to our knees.

  “Who’s here?” I asked.

  “No idea,” Lance hissed.

  My heart thudded. Was it the police? If Detective Kerry caught us snooping she would lock us both up for sure. Or could it be Megan’s killer? Neither of us had a weapon. This was a stupid idea.

  The sound of the car door slamming made me flinch.

  The next thing I knew the door burst open and Lance threw me to the ground and fell over my body, like a shield.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Lance was usually skittish in situations like this, but to my amazement he whispered, “Stay down.” Then he leaped to his feet, grabbed a ruler from Megan’s desk, and jumped in front of me. “Who’s here? You better back off. I have a weapon.”

  I couldn’t stay down. I sat up just in time to see Lance’s flashlight illuminate Adam’s face. What was he doing here?

  Adam blinked rapidly. He held his hand out to block Lance’s flashlight. “What are you doing here?” A file folder was tucked under his free arm.

  Lance aimed the beam of light directly into Adam’s eyes. “I’m not kidding. Don’t take a single step closer.”

  “Who are you?” Adam continued to shield his eyes.

  “Your worst nightmare,” Lance said in a tone that was laced with vigor. I’d never seen him like this. “You move a pinkie toe closer to us and you’ll regret it.”

  I was impressed. Lance weighed half of what Adam did. If Adam wanted to, he could probably knock Lance off his feet with a single push.

  Adam held out the file folder to shield his face from the light. “Look, I don’t know who you are but you shouldn’t be here. This is a crime scene, and private property. Nobody’s supposed be in here.”

  “We shouldn’t be here, ha!” Lance made a stabbing motion with the ruler. “I said back up.”

  “I don’t know who you are, but this is my property. Private property and I want you out now.” Adam folded one hand into a tight fist.

  “Look,” I said, moving between the two of them. “Let’s all calm down. Lance, this is Adam.” I shot Lance a look, to try and convey that engaging in a physical battle with the muscular biker wasn’t a wise idea.

  “Yeah, I got that,” Lance said to me. “What I want to know is what you’re doing here.” He kept the ruler out in front of him. “I happen to know that you were accused of murder. We were just with the police and know that you were stalking Megan, and most likely tried to poison my friend Juliet. Why? We don’t know. But one quick call to the dependable Ashland police department and I’m sure you’ll be locked behind bars, so please do go ahead and inform us as to why you could possibly think that you have a right to be in your victim’s office.”

  My pulse slowed slightly, and the rational side of my brain kicked in. “Yeah, how are you here? Didn’t Thomas arrest you?”

  Adam threw his hands out again. “Jeez, can you stop with the light?”

  Lance moved the fla
shlight a half inch off his face.

  “They let me go.” Adam cracked his neck.

  “What?” I couldn’t believe that Thomas and Detective Kerry would let the main suspect in a murder case go.

  Adam kept his hands in the air. “Look, I’m going to turn on the overhead light. Put the flashlight down.” He reached toward the door and flipped on the light.

  Now it was my turn to adjust to the fluorescent glare. With the lights on it was even more evident that the police had done a thorough sweep of Megan’s office. Yellow evidence markers had been placed on the bookshelves and filing cabinets. There was fingerprint-dust residue on the desk. Stacks of files had been arranged with color-coded notes.

  “You guys have it all wrong. I loved Megan. I loved her.” Adam’s voice deepened as he spoke. He held up one hand to reveal black ink on each finger. “The police checked me out. I told them everything I know because I want the person who did this to her to pay.”

  “According to what we’ve heard you were stalking her,” Lance said with conviction. “Perhaps you loved her too much. Did she find someone new? You couldn’t handle seeing her with her new lover. If you couldn’t have her, no one could. Am I right? It’s a classic tragedy told again and again on stages throughout the world.”

  Leave it to Lance to find a way to weave in the theater in a moment like this.

  “No. That’s not it. Not even close.” Adam walked toward the desk.

  Lance waved his ruler like a sword.

  “What are you going to do with that? Measure me?” Adam ignored Lance’s threatening stance. He sat down at the desk and opened the top drawer. “You don’t get it. Megan and I have known each other for almost twenty years. It’s true that we broke up, but Megan was my best friend. I’ve been trying to convince her to give me another shot.” He set the file folder down and removed a photo from the drawer and stared at it.

  “Sounds like textbook stalking to me,” Lance said with a snap of his wrist.

  Adam ran his finger along the glass frame. “No, that was for a job. It was my idea. Megan was investigating that lawyer, Jarvis O. Sandberg.” He said the name in a mock-pompous tone. “The guy said he was some hotshot corporate lawyer from New York, but he wasn’t. Megan learned that he had practiced in Vegas before being hired by the Brown Family Group. She didn’t trust him, thought he was a sleaze, but she knew that he was smart.”