6) Emily discovered Bill lying in front of Southwind’s Food Expo booth. She called 911 and then tried to resuscitate him.
7) The police found Bill dead, clutching a fork that had remnants of rhubarb crisp on it.
8) The police observed rhubarb stains on Bill’s and Emily’s clothing and hands.
9) The only fingerprints on the fork belonged to Bill and Emily.
10) Jane, Bill’s girlfriend (fiancée?), had her job because of her relationships with Bill and Chef Marcus. Since Bill’s death, Sarah had seen Jane cozying up to Chef Marcus, indicating the two might be having an affair or there had been a quick change in allegiance.
11) Jane claimed Bill was going to fire Emily because she caught Emily rifling through company business records. Emily still hadn’t told Sarah the story behind that accusation.
Sarah stopped making her list. She added a mental note to ask Emily about what might be behind Chef Marcus’s short fuse, the other chefs, and why, with Bill dead, Chef Marcus didn’t make Jane share her station with anyone else. She also decided her sister needed to explain why, when Jane was adamant Bill wanted to can Emily, Emily didn’t defend herself. As fiery as Emily normally was, especially if she felt she was being wronged, she’d never denied the accusation. Something about Emily’s response didn’t feel right to Sarah.
She forced herself to shift her focus back to the facts she knew.
12) Someone sabotaged the refrigerator/freezer that held the food for a private dinner party Southwind was catering and the partially cooked casseroles and pies Emily had prepared for the Food Expo. Could it have been Jane, Grace, Jacob, Richard, or one of Richard’s friends? Were there any competing restaurateurs who might have it in for Southwind? Either avenue could be a way to develop more suspects for Peter.
13) If Harlan hadn’t stuck with Emily and essentially forced Peter’s hand so that she’d left the station in the wee hours of the morning, Emily wouldn’t have been able to remake enough food to participate in the Food Expo. Whether Emily liked it or not, they had to consider who from Southwind would have benefited if Emily hadn’t been able to be in the booth. Richard certainly hadn’t seemed happy about being restricted in his cooking time. Jane seemed threatened by Emily’s competency. Sarah wasn’t sure about Grace or Jacob—or even Chef Marcus.
14) Chef Marcus promoted Emily in the public forum of the Food Expo after having predicted to Sarah that Emily would win Sunday’s cooking competition.
Thinking chronologically wasn’t producing any revelations, so Sarah decided to try something Harlan taught her. He claimed every life decision was tied to a relationship. As he said, love, hate, greed, and jealousy were the things that kept him in business. Reactions to emotional stimuli prompted business decisions, made people create trusts, wills, and prenuptial agreements, and dictated how people behaved during divorces. Time and again, Sarah had seen Harlan calm ruffled feathers or hold the hand of a person going through a difficult time.
She took a deep breath and shifted gears to think logically about Bill’s murder and Emily’s involvement with him. The obvious connection between them was their former family relationship because of Sarah and Bill’s marriage. There was no secret that his treatment of Sarah had resulted in tension and bad words exchanged between Emily and Bill during the divorce proceedings.
It appeared, except for Jane’s accusation that Bill was going to fire Emily, they’d found a way to work together professionally. Apparently, Emily put aside any bad feelings to realize her dream of working for Chef Marcus and Southwind—or had she? That, Sarah realized, was probably the million-dollar question that Peter, in his official police role, was investigating.
Using Harlan’s method, she brainstormed beyond Emily for suspects. What about Chef Marcus and his economic woes? Bill saved the restaurant by investing in Southwind, but that meant Chef Marcus no longer controlled his own business. Perhaps that riled him, or was Marcus angry because his hands were tied when Bill wanted to promote Jane and he favored Emily? Maybe someone else was upset when it seemed Jane likely would be promoted? Unfortunately, for Peter’s purposes, that question pointed the finger back at Emily, but surely some of the other line cooks could have been angry, too.
From watching everyone in action, it seemed Jacob was okay with Chef Marcus’s promotional decision, but she couldn’t say the same about Jane, Richard, or Grace. Then again, maybe appearances were deceiving. Grace seemed nice, but she also appeared to know a lot about questioning and bookings in criminal matters. Maybe she was the type of person who would kill someone else. Sarah needed to find out more about Grace’s past. Richard obviously had issues with Bill’s favoritism of Jane. Perhaps he wanted to clear the way for his own promotion. And just because Jacob was clean-cut and oh-so-cute and had yelled “woohoo,” she shouldn’t jump to let him off the hook.
What bothered her the most, though, was how Jane fit into everything. There was no question she wanted the position and might have been on her way to being more than Southwind’s sous chef. Marrying Bill, would that have made her an owner of Southwind and given her a better hold on her position in the kitchen, but didn’t she get all that with him dead, too? If the documents were real, once the will Harlan showed her was probated, Jane would inherit everything of Bill’s and become the majority owner of Southwind. From what Sarah had seen of Jane, she was surprised Jane wasn’t already trying to exert her authority over everything, especially who was promoted to sous chef.
Sarah’s head was beginning to spin. She wondered how much of this she could verbalize for Peter or for Harlan and whether they’d take any of these possibilities seriously. And silly as it might seem, did RahRah fit into the murder equation somewhere?
Sarah sipped the last dreg of her wine and pushed her glass away. She had a buzz, lots of questions, no answers, and a cat waiting at home for what might only be an indefinite period of time.
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah was about to swing into her driveway to park near the garage when she saw an open parking spot in front of her house. Because her apartment was converted attic space that could only be reached through the front foyer, she always preferred street parking to having to walk back to the front door from the dark driveway. Feeling lucky, she parked, locked her Honda, and went up the walkway.
The street door was ajar. She would have to talk to her downstairs neighbor about it. Both rarely locked their own doors, but that was because they were careful to keep the outer door locked. She thought about knocking and reminding her neighbor but decided it was too late to bother him tonight. Looking up the stairs from in front of his door, she noticed the bulb by her door was burnt out. As she climbed the steps, she added calling her landlord and her neighbor to tomorrow’s to-do list.
As Sarah reached the dark part of the stairwell “When the Saints Come Marching In,” her ringtone, resounded through the hallway. She rummaged through her purse, hurrying down the stairs until she reached one illuminated by a working bulb. Yanking her phone from the bottom, she hit the green answer icon. Before she could say “hello,” she was pushed hard from behind. The last thing she heard before she hit her head and passed out was her own scream.
* * *
“That should do it. Expect to have a pretty good bruise on your face.” The paramedic, who had arrived just as she regained consciousness, finished smoothing the Steri-Strip over her left brow. Without thinking, Sarah reached for her forehead, but an out-of-uniform Peter, who sat on the step next to her, intercepted her hand. She didn’t hurry to move it.
“You need to leave that alone and keep it dry tonight,” the paramedic said. “Because you won’t go in with us tonight, give your doctor a call tomorrow or go in and see him on Monday.” Taking off his purple gloves, the paramedic pulled a sheet of paper out of the pocket of one of his two bags. “From the looks of it, you’re lucky you weren’t hurt worse.”
“I’m lucky I was answering a call from the chief of police, who responded so quickly.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said. As the downstairs door slammed behind him, she scanned the checklist. “It probably isn’t necessary, but I guess I can set an alarm to wake me up every few hours.” She stuck the paper in her pocket as she stood, then stumbled.
Peter caught her and eased her back onto the step. “I don’t think you should be alone tonight. My techs are finished with your apartment. Nothing seemed out of order. They got a few prints off the doorknob, so we’ll see what that shows, but that’s about it.”
Sarah nodded.
“Can I take you to your sister’s place?”
“She doesn’t have a place. She’s been staying with Mom. And no, even if my mother wasn’t at a spa in Mexico this week, that’s the last place I would go tonight. This would frighten her too much.” Sarah’s free hand again found its way up to the bandage. “Plus, I doubt Emily’s even back from the Food Expo yet. Besides, all my things are here and . . .” She jumped to her feet, steadying herself with the rail as she became light-headed.
“What is it?” Peter asked.
“RahRah. The door was open all this time and RahRah hasn’t come out.” With Peter behind her, she went into her apartment and called for her cat.
There was no response.
“Does anything seem out of place?”
She looked around. Nothing seemed disturbed. The drawers were closed, the closet was cracked exactly as she had left it, her bed was unmade, and a bracelet she had left on top of her dresser still sat there. “The only thing missing seems to be RahRah. Would you please check under the bed for me? He likes to hide there. Maybe the techs scared him so he’s hiding.”
Peter leaned down and used the flashlight on his phone to make sure there wasn’t a curled-up fur ball under the bed. “Nothing here.”
He put a hand on Sarah’s rumpled double wedding ring quilt for leverage to stand. “I haven’t seen one of these in years.”
“My grandmother made it. She was afraid she wouldn’t be around when Emily and I got married so she made a quilt for each of our hope chests.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“I always thought so, too, but Bill preferred a down comforter. After our divorce, I couldn’t see keeping it pristine for the future. I decided the new me would use things I love.”
“Makes sense. Quilts like yours are made with love and meant to be used by people who love them.” Peter looked around the apartment and pointed to the closet. “Let’s check that out.”
Sarah walked into the closet ahead of Peter. She settled herself on the floor amidst her shoes and boots. Peter stepped in front of her and stretched his arm up to shine his flashlight across the upper shelves.
From her position on the floor, Sarah looked up, slowly taking Peter in. His leather boots, probably the same ones he wore with his uniform, were almost as tall as her seated eye level. Instead of the usual baggy appearance created by his uniform, his dark jeans, tucked tightly into his boots, emphasized his muscled legs, calves, and lack of a tush. When he turned and raised his arms to scan the nooks and crannies at the top of her closet, she saw his chest muscles ripple under his black cotton T-shirt.
The man obviously worked out. In fact, despite being a few pounds heavier, he was more buff than when they were in high school. If he had looked like this back then, Emily might have stayed home some of the times he came around. Tearing her eyes from his chest, Sarah took in the square jaw jutting out beyond his neck and his shock of thick black hair. She even liked the smell of his cologne. It was muskier than the sweet stuff Harlan used. Maybe it was the bump on the head or her angle from the floor, but she hadn’t ever viewed Peter this way before.
Embarrassed, she bent her head so he couldn’t see her face as she moved her shoes, tote bags, and other clutter around the closet floor. Regaining control, she started to stand but again became dizzy and grabbed for his arm.
With one hand, Peter scooped her to her feet. He guided her out of the closet and back to her bed. “Are you okay?”
“I am, but I’m afraid RahRah isn’t.”
“It looks like RahRah may be what whoever broke into your apartment was after. Could the person who pushed you have been holding RahRah?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Whoever pushed me used two hands.”
Above them they heard a faint sound.
“RahRah? RahRah!” Sarah yelled.
The shuffling sound came again. Peter rapped his knuckles on the ceiling and waited. Nothing.
“RahRah.” Peter opened the closet and again shone his light upward. “Look, there’s an opening I missed. Above the shelf.”
Jumping from the bed, Sarah squeezed into the closet and pressed against Peter so she could see the small space where a ceiling tile had been dislodged.
“Could he fit through there?” Peter asked.
“You’d be amazed the spaces he can get into.”
“Do you have a step stool?”
“In the closet, near the sink.”
Opening the two-step ladder, Peter set it up next to Sarah in the closet. He reached up but couldn’t move the tile to create a larger opening. Backing out of the closet, he retrieved the stepladder and placed it near where they heard a scratching sound.
Sarah steadied the ladder as he gently pushed up one of the ceiling twelve-by-twelve-inch squares. The tile gave. Carefully, Peter slid it to the side and used his flashlight to illuminate the attic area over the dropped ceiling. He handed her his flashlight and reached his arm into the open space.
“It’s going to be all right,” he whispered. He moved slowly, speaking softly. Finally, he pulled his large hand through the opening, grasping one subdued-looking cat. Peter extricated the finger he’d tucked under RahRah’s collar and handed him to Sarah.
Once in Sarah’s arms, RahRah alternately purred and hissed, but he didn’t try to escape Sarah’s engulfing hug. Cuddling him, she sat at her kitchen table.
“You must be a cat whisperer.” She stroked RahRah gently behind his ears while Peter replaced the ceiling tile, climbed down, and put the stepladder away. “RahRah is usually so squirrely. It’s amazing he let you bring him out of the attic without a fight.”
“I got lucky. Apparently, you have a fraidycat who prefers flight to confrontation. Whoever broke into your apartment must have scared RahRah, so he fled up into the attic through that opening in your closet. I’ll block it with some of your purses, but I’d get that closed soon. It looks as if he’s used that route before.”
“I’ll show it to the landlord tomorrow.”
Peter rubbed the top of RahRah’s head before plopping into the other kitchen chair. RahRah turned toward Peter as if affronted the rubbing had ceased. “RahRah either went farther into the attic than before or was simply so scared he froze. It sure was easier retrieving him frozen than biting and scratching.”
“I gather you’ve done this before.”
“Usually from trees, not attics.”
Sarah squeezed RahRah closer to her chest. “Maybe being frozen saved him. We couldn’t find him nor could the person who broke into my apartment.”
“Speaking of that person, did you notice if the person was male or female?”
“I thought it was a man, but I really don’t know. The light at the top of the stairs was out so I had gone down a few steps to where it was lit to answer my phone. My back was to the door of my apartment, so I didn’t see anyone before I was pushed. I think I blacked out quickly. All I remember is a black image flying past me.”
“It’s a good thing I heard you scream. If you’d simply not answered, I wouldn’t have come.”
> Sarah lightly touched her head. “As my mother would say, ‘your call was meant to be.’ But, why did you call me?”
“You were upset when you left my office. I was hoping we could talk.”
Peter got up and walked into the hallway.
Suddenly, she saw light outside her door. “It works?”
“Yup. Looks like someone wanted to make sure it was dark if you came home.”
“They planned to hurt me?”
“Maybe not hurt you, but at least be able to hear you fumbling at the door. That’s the only way in or out, isn’t it?”
Sarah nodded. She put her face into RahRah’s fur as she screwed her eyes tightly shut, trying to avoid another crying spell. “I wish I could remember more, but I can’t.”
“Tell you what. Let’s make this easy. Don’t try so hard. Simply close your eyes and think about being on the stairs. You told me you heard your phone ring, went down a few stairs, and answered it. What else did you smell or hear?”
She closed her eyes and slowly stroked RahRah’s fur, willing herself back in time. “After I felt the two hands on my back, I lost my balance. I fell forward, turning my head to the left. When I did that, I saw a flash of black out of the corner of my eye, probably as the person ran to the downstairs door. At that moment, I felt pain. It must have been when I hit my head.”
“Did you see anything else as the person ran by?”
“No and I don’t know if the flash of black was me passing out or a person dressed in black.” Sarah thought for another moment. “When the person pushed me, there was a sweet smell.”
“Perfume? Aftershave?”
“I don’t think so. It was something pleasant, but I don’t know what.” She looked up from RahRah at Peter, a tear escaping from her eye. She brushed it away. “I’m sorry. I really wish I could remember, but my memories are all mishmashed. Nothing seems solid.”
“That’s okay.” Peter’s soothing tone calmed Sarah. He cleared his throat. “I think RahRah and you need a good night’s rest. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and wake you every few hours?”
One Taste Too Many Page 8
