One Taste Too Many

by Debra H. Goldstein

  “Are you saying there’s an animal trust for Sarah to take care of RahRah in the carriage house?”

  “Not exactly, Harlan.” Peter came around his desk and perched on the edge in front of Harlan and Sarah. “Although there might be some dispute as to whether Bill should have compensated Sarah for RahRah’s care during the past few years, there is an allegation that Bill, as trustee of his mother’s estate, named a different caretaker.”

  Harlan rested his pen on his pad. “Allegation? Is there any basis for you to believe there is some credibility to it?”

  Sarah glanced from Harlan to Peter. “I’ve never heard of this before. Who is making this so-called allegation?”

  “Jane,” Peter said. “She has documents she contends substantiate Bill was the named trustee and that the reason she recently moved into the carriage house was he asked her to live there and be RahRah’s designated caretaker. Jane claims that, despite Bill’s repeated demands, you’ve refused to return the cat without receiving compensation.”

  “That’s a lie!” Sarah stood. Her shoulder just missed Peter’s face. “This is insulting. I adopted RahRah because he was Mother Blair’s cat. Not for some stipend I’ve never seen or heard anything about.”

  “Jane seems to think otherwise,” Peter said. “She wants RahRah brought back to the carriage house immediately.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got a little more investigating to do, but right now, it looks like she might have a valid claim if she goes to court.”

  “Peter,” Harlan said, “on what grounds are you making this legal determination?”

  “I’m not determining anything. That’s for a court of law, but if we can work it out now based on the documents Bill signed, it probably would be easier on everyone.”

  Harlan snorted. “And these documents just appeared? Are you sure they’re real? Want to tell me where they were during the past three years while Sarah was caring for RahRah without benefit of a stipend or the carriage house? Was this trust dormant during those years?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Well, it seems to me, that when Bill probated his mother’s will, the trust would have appeared.”

  Peter cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. “There seems to be some question whether Bill ever probated his mother’s will.”

  “Sounds to me like you have a lot more important things to investigate relating to Bill’s death than Jane’s allegations about RahRah’s cat trust.”

  “The cat trust wasn’t high on our list until Jane brought to my attention that Bill, as trustee, kept the stipend amount each month. Under the circumstances, I can’t rule out whether finding out Sarah was cheated out of the stipend and the carriage house by Bill, plus the other things he took in their divorce, might not be enough motivation for Emily or her sister to have killed him.”

  In as tightly controlled a voice as she could muster, Sarah said, “There is no way I’m going to listen to any more of this nonsense. Neither my sister nor I had anything to do with Bill’s death.” She took a breath and let out a sigh before adding, in a low voice that Peter bent forward to hear, “I didn’t kill anyone, steal RahRah, or take any jewelry. I’m not sure what Jane’s game is, but I know she’s a liar. Instead of wasting time worrying about my cat and annoying me, shouldn’t you be figuring out who, other than my sister, or, I guess, now me, murdered Bill? That is, if he actually was killed.”

  Chapter Seven

  Furious, Sarah stomped out of the station. She didn’t know which of Peter’s allegations or conclusions was the craziest. The only amusing thing, if one could call it that, was she could tell her sister Peter’s narrow-mindedness had fueled her motivation to help Emily develop a wider suspect base.

  Sarah stopped in front of the building that co-housed the fire and police departments. Neither Harlan nor Peter had followed her. She clutched and unclutched her hands, willing herself to calm down.

  Hearing the bells of the carillon on the far side of the square ringing, Sarah realized it was noon. Harlan’s office was one street over to the left, diagonally across from the strip center that housed Southwind, while her apartment, which was closer to the Civic Center, was two blocks to the right. Back to work seemed obvious, but the devil on her shoulder hissed it was lunchtime and she needed a few minutes to pull herself together and sort through Jane’s various allegations. The longer she waited to do it, the more Peter might believe them.

  Knowing Harlan had Emily there, Sarah didn’t feel pressed to go directly back to work. Instead, she took a deep breath and looked around the bricked city square. The city buildings on the remaining sides of the square were each built from the white crystalline marble Alabama claimed as its own.

  If today was Saturday, she’d head straight for the public library. Libraries were her home away from home as long as she could remember. That was where she’d first found an Erle Stanley Gardner book and fallen in love with the idea of becoming a lawyer or private detective. Things changed when she met Bill.

  “I don’t want to wait for you. Delaying school a year won’t be a big deal,” he’d said when they were dating.

  She’d believed him then and when he’d done things like upending her ironing board with the hot iron sitting on it. “Honey, private eyes and lawyers figure things out. You can’t even iron a shirt without scorching it. Before we waste money on school, why don’t you get my mother to show you how to do a few things around here?”

  While Sarah learned plenty from Bill’s mother, it apparently wasn’t enough to keep Bill from wandering elsewhere to find women with more expertise. Considering everything, she couldn’t believe Peter thought Emily or she killed Bill or she took a piece of Mother Blair’s jewelry. It was even harder for her to get her head around what Peter had said about RahRah.

  Sarah had read about people making provisions for their pets in their wills, but she thought only movie stars or people with too much money did that. Mother Blair definitely didn’t fit the image of a movie star or a kook. Surely, if Bill’s mother could see things now, she wouldn’t want RahRah taken from his loving home to live out his remaining eight lives with a gold digger.

  Thinking of RahRah made the decision to give in to the devil easier. If Harlan was annoyed, she would always argue this lunch hour was business development for him. After all, there could come a day when RahRah, having the run of a better house and a higher income than Sarah’s, might hire Harlan as his kitty lawyer.

  Unlocking her door, Sarah surveyed the condition of her apartment. One of the problems with an efficiency unit was that if anything was out of place, it stuck out like a sore finger. She and Emily had been in such a rush to leave this morning that the place looked like it had been hit by a whirlwind. RahRah was nowhere to be seen. She called his name, but he didn’t appear. He probably shared her feelings about the disarray and had gone into hiding until Sarah straightened up a bit.

  RahRah didn’t poke his nose out from under the bed until she loaded the dishwasher, made the bed, and sat at the butcher-block kitchen table with a peanut butter and banana sandwich. He strolled right by her to his empty bowl. A low gurgle came from his throat.

  “Well, la di dah. You already finished your food. Let me eat my lunch and I’ll get an extra treat for you.”

  A few bites into her sandwich, a noise from the closet area made Sarah look in that direction. RahRah was nudging the partially open closet door a little farther each time, until he saw his reflected image. At that point, he jumped away. Laughing, Sarah picked him up. She hugged the squirming cat while kicking the door closed.

  “You are one fifteen-pound scaredy-cat and I love you.” Still holding him firmly, she sat at her two-person kitchen table.

  RahRah pushed against her, stretching out in her lap to be stroked. Forgetting about her sandwich, she concentrated on meeting his demand until he swatted her hand away with his paw. Before he could escape from her lap, she engulfed him in her arms and buried her face in his f
ur. This time, Sarah couldn’t stop the tears from flowing and she didn’t try.

  Chapter Eight

  Sarah waited for Emily to find the button on the reception desk and buzz her into Harlan’s office. She hoped the little bit of makeup she’d thrown on was enough to prevent Harlan and Emily from noticing she’d been crying.

  “Where have you been? Harlan’s been back for almost an hour.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I stopped home to feed RahRah and grab a sandwich. I didn’t realize you were in a rush. How did your statement go?”

  “Better than I expected. I told Peter what happened and that was that.” Emily pointed at the wall clock. “I hoped to get to Southwind in time to help with lunch service and prep dinner. Lunch is over now.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sarah came around the desk to relieve her sister. “I didn’t realize you were working at the Expo opening tonight and planning to do a day shift at the restaurant, too.”

  Emily sighed as she grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and draped it over her arm. “Everyone from Southwind is setting up and working scheduled shifts at the Expo this weekend, but the restaurant is open for business as usual. We’ll all be working overtime, going back and forth between the Expo and the restaurant.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that. Sounds exhausting.”

  Emily began to respond but stopped midsentence when Harlan stuck his head out of his office and said, “Thought about what?”

  “That Southwind doesn’t close simply because we’re also staffing the Civic Center for the next few days.” Emily looked at Sarah. “In fact, not only are we all balancing our time between the Expo and Southwind’s regular dining crowd, but Chef Marcus took on a small catering job for tonight, too.” She turned to leave, but Harlan stepped into her path to the door.

  “Sounds like Chef Marcus is a bit ambitious.”

  Emily stiffened. “I’d say industrious.” She tried passing Harlan. “Excuse me, please.”

  He didn’t budge.

  “Harlan,” Emily said, “Sarah’s here so you don’t need me anymore. I’ve got to get back.”

  Sarah could swear Harlan’s eyes twinkled as, still holding his ground, he held up his glasses and examined them, as if checking for a dirt spot. Finally, resting them on his face again, he extended his hand toward his private office. “I hate to delay you any longer, but I really need a few minutes for the three of us to sit down together. It’s important.”

  In his office, Harlan selected the leather wingback chair next to the couch, where Sarah chose to sit.

  As he settled himself into its deep seat, Emily, who had remained standing by his door, interrupted any moment he might have taken to gather his thoughts. “Harlan, is there some news on what killed Bill?”

  He shook his head. “No, but after Sarah left Peter’s office, I stayed and talked with him. There are still a few things that concern him. I think Peter will want to talk with you again.”

  Emily glanced at her watch and frowned. “I don’t have time for that. Look, I’m really sorry about Bill, but I don’t have anything to add to the statement I gave Peter today or what I told him last night.”

  “Maybe not, but Peter’s stuck in one of those ‘just the facts’ modes.”

  “You’re concerned he’s trying to fit things into his version of the facts, aren’t you?” Emily asked.

  Harlan nodded, but Sarah furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”

  Emily planted her hands on her hips. “This morning was all for show, wasn’t it, Harlan? Peter isn’t waiting for the tox reports or searching for the real killer. He’s zeroed in on me.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions. It’s way too early to think like that. Peter still is investigating other suspects,” Harlan said.

  Emily moved closer to the edge of Harlan’s desk. “I’m sorry. I just don’t share your confidence in Peter. I think he already can see the DA’s opening statement: ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, although Bill Blair hated rhubarb and allegedly would never have eaten Emily Johnson’s rhubarb crisp because he was aware she used nuts in her topping and he was deathly allergic to nuts, we are hard-pressed to get around the circumstantial evidence. A locked Civic Center, rhubarb covering the victim, and one of her forks grasped in his fist might not be enough to lead you to believe she is the murderer, but—’”

  Harlan gestured a stop motion with his left hand. “Your fork? Peter never said . . .”

  “We’re using novelty plastic forks with the restaurant’s name on them in our booth. Chef Marcus thought they would be a walking advertisement for Southwind. When I was giving Bill CPR, I recognized the logo on the fork in his hand.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily tie the fork to you,” Sarah said. “You aren’t the only one in the booth and if the forks were lying out when everyone was setting up, anyone in the Civic Center could have handed one to Bill.” She turned to face Harlan. “Surely you can convince Peter and a jury that Bill or anyone could have picked up one of the forks.”

  Emily waved her hand dismissively. “Not if there isn’t any evidence to the contrary. Right, Harlan?”

  “Even if the evidence is circumstantial, I can assure you Peter doesn’t consider you his only suspect. Besides, if we ever end up in a hearing, there are plenty of ways I can create reasonable doubt in the minds of a jury. You aren’t the only one who might have a motive for killing Bill.”

  “Yeah,” Sarah said. “Guess who else is in the club.” She filled her sister in on what had transpired during her meeting with Peter. “I was already committed to helping clear your name, but this only adds to my motivation to help you find more suspects.”

  “Whoa.” Harlan raised his hands in a “hold it” fashion. “You two need to stay out of the investigation. No sleuthing, snooping, or anything of that nature. Leave it to the professionals. I assure you, Peter’s a good guy. He’ll come up with the right suspect eventually.”

  “Not soon enough for me,” Emily said.

  “I understand, but no amateur sleuthing.” Harlan looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. Sarah, I doubt either of us will be very productive this afternoon. Why don’t you go to the Civic Center with Emily and see if you can help her make up the time she couldn’t work while you took your extended lunch.”

  Before Sarah could get any words out, Emily clapped her hands. “You’re a sweetie!”

  Seeing Harlan blush, Sarah muttered her thanks and quickly retrieved her purse from her desk. With a final good-bye to Harlan, the twins left the office.

  “If you think it will be a late evening,” Sarah said, “we should take another minute and get my car and make sure RahRah has enough food. I can meet you at the Civic Center.”

  Emily checked her watch. “At this point, I can take another minute. After all, I’m going to have a top-notch helper tonight.”

  On the sidewalk in front of her house, Sarah handed her key fob to Emily. “Back my car down the driveway while I run inside and check on RahRah. It will only take a moment.” Without waiting for an answer, she dashed into the house and quickly tended to RahRah’s needs.

  “He’s set.” She slid into the passenger seat beside Emily. Considering that Emily already thought she was obsessed with RahRah, she didn’t think she needed to go into a recitation of how cute he’d looked lying in his special place in the kitchen. Instead, she peered out the window as Emily eased the car into traffic and drove the few blocks to the Civic Center. She parked but didn’t turn off the ignition or get out of the car. Surprised Emily was delaying, Sarah stared at her.

  “Before we go in,” Emily said, “we probably should consider who, besides the two of us, might have had a motive for killing Bill.”

  “I’m not sure about motive, but whoever killed Bill had access to the Civic Center. And because Bill was holding a fork marked with the Southwind name, we can’t rule out that it was a member of the Southwind group.”

  Emily shook her head vehemently. “No
way. Except Jane and, I guess, Bill, everyone else is good folks.”

  “You never know. Besides, what about the fork? That’s a tie-in.”

  “Those forks are on all the counters of our booth. A chef from next door, someone from three rows over, or even Bill could have picked it up. The fork doesn’t necessarily tie it to me or someone else from Southwind.”

  “Well, whether the person worked for Southwind or not, it has to be someone who could easily go in and out of the exhibition area at any time without anyone thinking they’re in the wrong place.”

  “That’s just about everyone in town.” Emily got out of the car and slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter Nine

  Sarah watched her sister in awe. Instead of the angry person she’d been in the car, Expo Emily was in full charge—cool, detached, and giving orders. It was Chef Marcus who was falling apart. He sat in a chair someone had stuck across from a wide-open refrigerator and freezer in the back room of the exhibition hall, running his hands through his dark, curly hair. Although there were stand-alone booths at the front of this room, the space by the refrigerator looked more like a stock area for the different exhibitors.

  Chef Marcus’s mumbled mutterings of “I’m ruined” and “Who would do this to us?” were overshadowed for Sarah by the fact that the red-haired vixen, who attacked Emily the night before and was demanding she surrender RahRah, had an arm wrapped around his broad shoulders and her head bent close to his. Apparently, Jane was well on the road to recovery from losing Bill.

  “It’s going to be all right. No one can blame you for what happened,” Jane said to Marcus. She looked up and glared at Emily, but Emily ignored her.

  Emily seemed focused on the three other people wearing Southwind shirts. The two men appeared about Emily and Sarah’s age, while Sarah pegged the third Southwind employee, a woman, as being several years younger than the rest of the group. The four stood just beyond a puddle of water that surrounded the bottom of the stainless-steel refrigeration unit. Sarah moved closer to the group.