by Penny Pike
“Did you get a look at him?” the detective asked. “Male or female? Height? Hair color? Anything?”
Aunt Abby shook her head and nudged the plate of cookies closer to the detective. “Like I said, whoever it was surprised me from behind, so I never saw him. I was so startled and disoriented. Before I could think straight, he grabbed my wrists and taped them behind me and jerked me over to that kitchen chair there and taped up my ankles.”
She pointed to a chair at the small kitchen table located in the nearby nook. The detective looked at it, then nodded to one of the officers, indicating he wanted it checked out. Unfortunately, I had righted the chair after freeing my aunt. Hopefully any fingerprints the suspect might have left weren’t smeared by my own hands.
The detective jotted down a note. “Then what?”
“Well,” Aunt Abby continued, “after he tied me to the chair, naturally I started screaming. So he lifted up the bag partway and taped my mouth shut.” The scrap of tape still lay on the floor where I’d dropped it after removing it from my aunt’s mouth.
The detective continued his questioning. “Did the intruder say anything to you? Threaten you? Tell you to be quiet? Anything like that?”
“No, nothing. Not a word. At one point I heard him walk away and I thought he was leaving, but he must have heard Dillon—” Aunt Abby clapped a hand over her mouth. Did she really expect to keep Dillon’s presence a secret from the detective?
“Your son was here?” the detective asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“It’s all right, Aunt Abby,” I said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You have to tell him everything. It’s obvious you weren’t the only one attacked.” I turned to the detective. “Yes, Dillon was here. He . . . happened to arrive soon after the intruder broke in. But the attacker surprised him too.”
“Where is your son now, Ms. Warner?” the detective asked, looking around.
Jake answered for my aunt. “I’m afraid he’s gone, Detective.”
Detective Shelton frowned as he turned to Aunt Abby. “Any idea where he is?”
We all shook our heads.
The detective sighed. “All right, why don’t you tell me what happened next, Ms. Warner?”
Jake and I shared a quick glance.
“Well,” she continued, “like Darcy said, Dillon happened to drop by out of the blue. I would have told him you were looking for him, Detective, but at that moment, I couldn’t say anything because my mouth was taped shut. Anyway, the guy did the same thing to Dillon—put a bag over his head, tied him up, and shut him in the hall closet.”
The detective alerted one of the techs, nodding toward the closet.
“Did he take anything? Did he hurt you in any way?” Detective Shelton asked.
“I don’t think he stole anything, but he left this note. Darcy found it on the floor.” She handed over the message written in black marker: “Remember the rat? Next time it’ll be you.” She shivered.
“I think that note was meant for me, Detective,” I said. “He probably thinks I live here. I’m just glad he didn’t harm my aunt or Dillon.”
“What’s the reference to the rat?” the detective asked.
“Dillon has a pet rat. I think he was referring to that.”
“And why do you think he’s after you, Ms. Burnett?”
I dug into my purse and pulled out the note that had been left on my windshield earlier, then handed it to the detective. “Because of this.”
He held it by the corner and unfolded it with his pen. If he was trying to save any fingerprints, it was probably too late for that. He read the note aloud: “Mind your own business or you might find a little rodent meat in your next potpie.”
“Why didn’t you call me about this?” Detective Shelton asked.
“I was going to . . . but I got distracted.”
The detective shook his head. “Why do you think he threatened you?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Detective?” Jake said. “Because she’s trying to save her aunt and her nephew by solving these murders.”
Detective Shelton looked at Jake. “And what is your role in all of this?”
“I told you, he’s helping us,” I answered for him. “Besides, he’s right. I found out something that might be connected to the murder of Boris Obregar.”
The detective eyed me. “Like what?”
“I think Boris was part of some illegal business.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I followed that guy from the Meat Wagon—Tripp—and found out he’s printing up all kinds of documents in an old abandoned warehouse. I think he heard my phone ring and figured out I was spying on him, so he put that note on my windshield to scare me off. And to make sure I got the message, he came to Aunt Abby’s and threatened her.”
The detective clicked his pen. “Anything else?”
“Aren’t you going to arrest Tripp?” I asked, surprised at his nonchalant response.
“We’ll check him out,” he said, rising from the stool.
“But look what he did to my aunt! She could have been killed!”
“We don’t know it was him yet,” Detective Shelton said. “I’ll know more when my guys get this stuff back to forensics. Meanwhile, lock your doors and quit following possible murder suspects to empty warehouses. Leave that to us.”
I was too stunned to reply.
“Oh, and one more thing,” the detective said to Aunt Abby. “You mentioned your son was here but you said you don’t know where he went?”
Aunt Abby looked at the plate of cookies. “That’s right. He took off without telling us where he was going.”
The detective had the hint of a smile on his face. I knew he knew she knew.
“When you see him again, tell him I want to talk to him. The longer he stays hidden, the harder it’s going to be for him.”
Aunt Abby bit her lip. “Oh! I almost forgot. The intruder took our cell phones! Maybe you can you trace them and find out where he is?”
“You mean track them,” the detective corrected her. “Have you installed any antitheft apps on it?”
“No,” Aunt Abby said.
I had a feeling Dillon hadn’t either, since he didn’t want to take the chance of someone finding him through his cell phone.
“You might be able to find it through your GPS,” the detective said, “unless it’s an old phone or it’s been disabled or it’s turned off. You could also try the Find My iPhone app using a friend’s phone. That sometimes works. But again, if the thief is tech savvy, he can make it hard to find.”
Finding Aunt Abby and Dillon’s phones was just another piece of the puzzle. The thief had used my aunt’s phone to lure me to the house, where Aunt Abby and Dillon were tied up, so it had probably served its purpose.
But that led to the question: If it was me the intruder was after, why had he left before I’d arrived?
Chapter 21
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed,” Aunt Abby said after the detective and his officers had left. She bagged up the leftover cookies and poured out the remaining coffee. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. Not that I’ll get any tonight either, what with everything that’s happened. Darcy, would you mind staying in the house tonight?”
“No problem,” I said, and gave her a hug good night.
“Thank you,” Aunt Abby said. “You can sleep in Dillon’s room or on the couch. There are sheets and blankets in the linen closet. Come on, Basil.”
“I’ll be fine on the couch,” I said. No way was I going to sleep in Dillon’s bed. With a rat—pet or otherwise.
“And I’ll make sure everything’s locked up before I leave,” Jake added.
Aunt Abby padded down the hall to her bedroom, her dog following behind her, then switched off the hallway light. I heard her door close
.
I looked at Jake and suddenly felt awkward. “Would you like a glass of wine or a beer?”
To my surprise, he answered, “Sure, I’ll have a beer,” and took a seat on one of the stools.
I checked the fridge and found a couple of Fat Tires—Dillon’s, no doubt—then joined Jake at the island counter. He twisted off the caps and handed me one of the beers. We both took a swallow, then both sighed as the alcohol began to hit our systems.
I laughed and felt the tension leave and my body begin to relax.
“What’s next?” Jake asked. He took another swig of beer.
“What makes you think I’m going to do anything more? Nothing I’ve done so far has been of any help at all. In fact, it’s just gotten my aunt and Dillon nearly killed. I think I’d better quit while we’re still alive.”
“I’m starting to get a sense about you, Darcy, and I know you aren’t going to quit looking for the killer. I just want to know what I can do to help.”
I smiled. From the earnest look in his eyes, I believed him. Jake was one of the good guys, no doubt about it—anymore. And while Dillon was doing what he could to dig into things, his help was limited, what with him disappearing all the time, not to mention being hunted by the cops.
“So what do we know so far?” Jake asked.
I reached for my purse and pulled out my notebook. Flipping to the page of suspects and motives, I made sure Jake saw the name at the bottom—his own—had been crossed out. He smiled.
I took a sip of beer before adding to my information. Then I wrote the following under Tripp’s name, saying the points out loud for Jake’s benefit:
“‘Running some kind of illegal document printing at a warehouse. Making fake IDs? For illegal immigrants?’ Anything else?” I looked at Jake. He shook his head. “‘Must have heard my cell phone ring and knew I’d seen his operations’—which reminds me. I have to change that ringtone!”
“I can do that for you,” Jake said. “Hand me your phone.”
I dug in my purse and pulled out my cell phone. Jake took it, tapped the phone a few times, then handed it back.
“What song did you use?” I asked.
He reached over and tapped the phone again. A police siren filled the air. “Now you’ll definitely know it’s your aunt.”
I grinned. “Very funny. That’s going to drive me crazy.” I set the phone down, making a mental note to have Dillon reprogram it. “Now, where was I?”
“You’re pretty sure it was Tripp?” Jake asked.
I nodded, then continued.
“‘Stole their cell phones, then called me with Aunt Abby’s phone to lure me to the house—why?’”
Jake frowned.
“‘Left before I arrived—why?’”
I looked up at Jake. “None of this makes any sense. It all seems so random. If Tripp is the killer, what’s his motive? Why the threats?”
Jake shook his head. “Well, as a former attorney, I know one thing for sure.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Everybody has a secret.”
“Oh really? What’s yours?”
“You already know. I was disbarred. That’s not something I’m proud of or share with just anyone.”
I felt a little heat wave pass through me. Was I not “just anyone”?
“So, the question is . . .” Jake continued.
Uh-oh. He’s going to want to know my secret. Am I going to have to tell him that I lost my job, my boyfriend, and my apartment and will probably be working in my aunt’s food truck and living in an RV for the rest of my life? Being disbarred was nothing compared to the loser life I was headed for. At least Jake was doing what he loved—creating artisan desserts and making people happy. What was I doing? Slopping sandwiches together and trying to find a murderer in order to stay alive.
“Darcy?” Jake said, startling me out of my depressing thoughts.
“What? Oh, sorry!” Apparently Jake had been talking to me and I hadn’t heard a word he’d said after, “So, the question is . . .” “Uh, you were saying something about secrets.” I steeled myself for the end of his sentence, certain it would be “What’s your secret?”
To my surprise, he asked, “Yes. The question is, what secrets were Boris and Oliver keeping that led to their deaths?”
Phew, I thought. “Of course!” I said. I looked at my notebook. “We know that Oliver hated the food trucks—that was no secret. And we know he threatened several of the owners. We also know his restaurant was in trouble. Was that enough to get him killed?”
Jake shrugged. “What about Boris?”
“We know he had a record for selling drugs. And he was working with Tripp in some way—maybe selling fake IDs through his truck? We know he and the vegans didn’t get along because of his exotic meats and he had a crush on Willow. But again, was any of that enough to cause his death?”
Jake shrugged. “Who knows why people kill other people these days. Some of my best friends are defense attorneys who defended jealous boyfriends who murdered their girlfriends, drug dealers who killed other drug dealers, even guys who shot people over parking spaces. Maybe we’ll never know the truth about those two.”
“I can’t accept that,” I said. “All behavior is motivated. I learned that being a reporter for the Chronicle. It’s just that some people keep their motives hidden better than others. And if I don’t find out what happened to Oliver and Boris, the same thing could happen to my aunt or anyone else who had a connection to those two.”
“So like I said, what do we do next?”
“We?”
“Why do you think I’m still here?”
“Oh, uh, well, I think we need to find out more about Tripp, maybe take a look in that warehouse. Get some evidence for Detective Shelton. Then find out how he distributes the IDs—if that’s what he’s doing—and who pays him, and how involved Boris was in all of this. We still need a connection to Oliver. Maybe I can find out more from his sister . . .”
Something suddenly occurred to me.
“Darcy? I know that look. What is it?”
I blinked. “I was just thinking. . . . I saw Livvy earlier tonight after I left you. When I was about to pull out of the parking lot, I spotted someone across the street at Bones ’n’ Brew. Whoever it was—Livvy?—was taking out a couple of bundles of trash, so I drove over to talk to her. When no one answered the back door, I went in calling her name. She didn’t answer, so I went on down the hall to Oliver’s office—”
“Wait a minute. You went in there alone?” Jake asked.
“Yeah . . . like I said, I wanted to talk to Livvy.”
“You realize that restaurant was the scene of a murder. Who knows what could have happened to you. Everyone knows the killer returns to the scene of the crime at some point—at least on TV.”
I hadn’t thought about that at the time. The only thing on my mind was finding out more about Oliver. I hesitated to continue telling Jake what happened.
“Go on,” Jake urged, still frowning.
“Like I said, when I didn’t see anyone, I went to Oliver’s office.” I glanced at Jake’s disapproving face. “Don’t worry. Nothing happened. The killer wasn’t hiding inside, waiting for me.”
“But Darcy, something could have been,” Jake argued. “You should have called me. I would have gone with you.”
I chugged the last of my beer. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story?”
“Yes,” Jake said.
I took a deep breath. “The office had been ransacked. All the drawers were pulled out, some of them dumped over. Papers were everywhere. Someone had obviously been in there searching for something.”
Jake groaned. “Darcy! They could have easily still been in the restaurant. I hope you got out—fast.”
I pursed my lips, then said, “Not exa
ctly.”
Jake rolled his eyes.
“I would have,” I explained, “but just then Livvy appeared. She said she’d found the office like it was and suspected the same thing—that someone had been looking for something. I asked her if she’d called the police and she said she was about to. Then she came in and shuffled through the papers. When she tried to shut the top drawer of Oliver’s desk, it wouldn’t close, like it was stuck on something.”
“She shouldn’t have touched anything,” Jake said, his lawyer persona coming through.
“I know. But when the drawer wouldn’t shut, she found out why. A packet was taped underneath the drawer and it had come loose. That’s what was keeping it from closing.”
“What kind of packet?” Jake asked, suddenly interested.
“A big manila envelope. She opened it, and it was full of recipes. She recognized them and said they were Oliver’s secret recipes. Apparently he’d kept them hidden from everyone, including his own sister, because he was sure someone wanted to steal them. She thinks maybe those recipes were related to his murder.”
“Killed over secret recipes?” Jake said, disbelief in his voice. “Sounds like an episode of Castle. Does she suspect anyone?”
“She didn’t say. I told her to call the police. Then I got that phone call from my aunt—or at least, my aunt’s phone. I felt bad leaving, but what could I do? I figured the police would be there soon.”
“You both should have gotten out of there. The guy could easily have been hiding somewhere in the restaurant.”
“I know, but obviously he wasn’t, since we never saw him.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t there,” Jake said.
Jake was right. But it was too late now to speculate. If I’d had time to think things through at that point I might have, but I’d been caught up in the moment.
“Then, when I got to my car, someone had flattened all four tires. I had to take a cab to my aunt’s house.”
