by Mary Ellis
Beth took the lead on answering the question. “I have no idea, but Evelyn is a good woman who understands Christian kindness and forgiveness.”
She shrugged. “I just started going to church, so I’m fairly new at this. But logic tells me there should be a limit on that kind of charity.”
Beth crossed her arms to match Michael’s stance. “I know without a shadow of a doubt that she loved her husband and wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Conjecture and gut feelings won’t help us now.” Michael slicked a hand through his hair. “After the police have had a chance to do their job, Beth and I will get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, this meeting is adjourned. Let’s eat. Before you know it, Kaitlyn, it’ll be time for your shift at Tanaka’s Culinary Creations.”
A shiver ran from Beth’s scalp to her toes. “Good idea, because I’m starved.” That wasn’t true, though. Her appetite had disappeared with the news of Evelyn’s shenanigans. “Who had a tuna on nine-grain with hot peppers?” she asked, pulling sandwiches from the bag.
“Definitely not me.” Kaitlyn passed the sub and chips to Michael. “I had the turkey on Italian bread, all the veggies, with light mustard.”
Once everyone had the correct sandwich, Beth pulled the last sandwich from the bag. Even though it had been prepared exactly how she liked it, each bite stuck in her throat when she swallowed.
Evelyn, an accomplice to murder. How could anyone possibly think that?
TWENTY-NINE
Kaitlyn hardly tasted her sandwich at the meeting in the park. So many sparks were flying between Michael and Beth that it was a miracle the Spanish moss didn’t catch fire and burn down Johnson Square. Had it always been like that between those two? They both must fall into bed at night utterly exhausted from all the dancing around each other’s feelings. Poor Beth. No wonder she had been seeking advice from someone she barely knew. She was floundering in her new romance. Unfortunately, I know even less about forming positive human relationships than you.
And poor Michael. At least the guy seemed to be logical, quick thinking, and most of all, patient. Kaitlyn arrived at three conclusions while they cleaned up the trash. First, Michael didn’t share Beth’s certainty that Mrs. Doyle was innocent. Second, he would do everything in his power to keep Beth from running afoul of the law. And third, he was just as madly in love with her as she was with him—and almost as clueless.
Kaitlyn had gotten so caught up in their drama that she arrived at Tanaka’s Culinary Creations without formulating a plan of attack. She parked on the street and assessed the restaurant with her field glasses. Patrons lingered over late lunches or cups of herbal tea at three tables. Walk-ins would be sparse at this hour. Kaitlyn locked her car and walked around to the courtyard, where only one table had occupants—an elderly couple sharing an order of sushi rolls. If their smiles were any indication, they were enjoying her handiwork.
Entering the restaurant through the service door, Kaitlyn ran headlong into Jason, who had bags of trash in both hands.
“K-Kaitlyn,” he sputtered. “What are you doing here?”
“Your mother asked me to work every night this week so that her hand can heal. Once the freezer is stocked, she’ll cut back my hours. Didn’t she tell you?” Kaitlyn peered up at him.
“Yeah, she told me, but I didn’t think you knew about this entrance.” Jason squeezed past her on his way to the alley.
“Every public establishment needs two points of access to meet the fire code.” She sounded like a schoolteacher, but her lesson was lost on the young man. Jason had already disappeared around the privacy fence.
Inside the back door were employee restrooms, a time clock mounted to the wall, and a dozen employee storage cubicles. None of them had locks, so theft between employees apparently wasn’t an issue. Of course, she was the only nonfamily member working here. Kaitlyn tucked her purse into her assigned compartment and entered the kitchen, where Amy stirred a simmering pot on the stove. A heady fragrance of basil, parsley, celery, and onion filled the air.
“Hi, Amy. Something sure smells good.”
“A good, hardy soup for our first chilly day,” she said over her shoulder. “I see you’ve returned for day number two.”
“Yep. The rent and utility bill won’t pay themselves.” Kaitlyn smiled at the porcelain-skinned, raven-haired girl.
Amy dragged the pot from the burner with mitts and turned to face her. “About those bills… I’ve been asking around. One of my friends works for the Savannah Historical Society. They need a front desk clerk to fill in for six months while a woman has back surgery. It’s easy work. All you have to do is pass out brochures, sign people up for various tours, and make sure teachers keep their students in line around the displays.”
Kaitlyn dawdled as she scrubbed her hands and arms at the sink to give her time to think. If Amy had conned one of her pals into creating a job for her, the brother-sister team definitely had something to hide. “You think if I can roll sushi, I must be good at crowd control?” She reached for a paper towel to dry her hands.
Amy’s chuckle sounded forced. “Look, I’m talking about a good job that will last longer than this one. You would work in a beautiful, air-conditioned mansion and not go home with clothes smelling like smoked trout. Did I mention the salary will be twice what my mother pays you?”
How could anyone turn down such an attractive offer? “That was incredibly nice of you!” Kaitlyn produced an expression to reflect her appreciation. “Especially since I got the impression you didn’t like me too much yesterday. Then you turn around and go to bat for me today.”
“I like you fine. We just got off on the wrong foot.”
“Good. I’m glad that’s straightened out.” Kaitlyn spritzed her prep counter with nontoxic sanitizer and polished until the surface shone.
Her soup forgotten, Amy took a step closer. “Will you call my friend about the job?”
“I don’t think so, but thanks anyway.” Kaitlyn’s smile was worthy of a pageant contestant.
“Please don’t be offended, but a Japanese deli isn’t a good fit for you. If our clients see a non-Asian making our famous sushi rolls, they might think our cuisine isn’t authentic.”
“Good point.” Kaitlyn glanced up briefly. “From now on I’ll work with my back to the window. That way my ethnic heritage will remain a deep, dark secret.” She rewashed her hands, pulled a tunic over her head, and headed to the refrigerator for ingredients.
Amy marched around the table until she stood face-to-face with Kaitlyn, her arms akimbo. “May I ask why you don’t want the job at the Historical Society? If you’re behind on your bills, doubling your salary would catch you up faster.”
Kaitlyn dumped an armload of plastic tubs on the stainless steel counter. “That is the honest truth, but I…I have personal reasons for not wanting a front desk position, especially if it involves dealing with tourists, frazzled teachers, and hordes of kids with more energy than common sense.”
Amy remained rooted in place as though her expensive running shoes were glued to the floor. “That sounds suspiciously like you’re on the lam or something. If you expect my family to trust you, don’t we have a right to know the answer?”
The girl doesn’t know how close she is to the truth.
Kaitlyn shrugged her shoulders. “It’s nothing like that. I have a mild case of agoraphobia. Crowds make me nervous, as in clinical anxiety. My shrink told me I’ve come a long way since having full-blown panic attacks whenever too many people enter the room. The doctor has even weaned me off meds except in emergencies.” She sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “That’s why I’m trying a temporary job in a restaurant. I’ll be fine as long as I stay in the kitchen and deal with only one or two people at a time. Right now I couldn’t do what you do.” She hooked her thumb toward the dining room. “Maybe someday, but it won’t be soon.”
Suddenly, the door swung wide and Jason’s head appeared. “What’s going on, Amy?” he demand
ed. “We have customers out here who want their checks before Christmas.”
“I’m on my way,” she snapped as the door swung shut. “Okay, fine. You can keep making sushi rolls for as long as my mom needs you. And don’t worry about keeping your back to the window. That doesn’t sound very politically correct the more I think about it.” Amy picked up her check pad and pen.
“What will you tell your friend?” Kaitlyn called.
“What?” Amy held the door open with her backside.
“At the Historical Society.”
“Don’t worry about them. Some brave soul is bound to be looking for a job.”
Kaitlyn smiled at both her Oscar-worthy performance as a phobia sufferer and her own intuition. She knew right off the bat that the job had been fabricated to get rid of her. Although the position probably wouldn’t last more than a couple weeks, it was still a kinder gesture than inventing a lie to Mrs. Tanaka so she would be fired.
For the next two hours, Kaitlyn created dozens of hosomaki and chumaki sushi rolls—each one a culinary masterpiece, at least in her own mind. Amy served customers, refilled condiment containers, wiped out the refrigerated displays, and chatted with her brother at the counter. While the siblings huddled over cups of coffee, Kaitlyn examined the stockpot, still bubbling away on the stove. It was full of beef soup with brown rice, barley, and every vegetable that grew in American gardens across the South. There wasn’t anything exotic or gourmet or even Asian about it. There also wasn’t anything like it on the menu, including the list of daily specials.
As the afternoon turned to evening, Amy and Jason grew more distant and secretive. Once, Kaitlyn caught Jason watching her through the window, and Amy avoided eye contact each time she entered the kitchen.
Had she truly been agoraphobic, this would be a perfect job, because she’d become practically invisible at the prep counter.
Around seven o’clock Jason entered the kitchen and went to work at an area of counter as far from her as possible. With nimble fingers, he lined up slices of whole-wheat bread and then topped each slice with sliced ham and Swiss cheese. Before he’d finished his first row, Kaitlyn scrubbed the last sushi residue from her hands.
“Can I help with those?” she asked, joining him at the counter.
The question made him flinch. “No, thanks, Kate. You keep making Mom’s rolls.”
“I finished my quota for the day. And we’ll need the fresh fish delivery to start tomorrow’s. If those are for the take-out cooler, I’d be happy to help.” She reached for the second loaf of bread.
Jason pushed the bag beyond her reach. “No, they’re for a card game with my frat brothers. Tonight we’re playing at my apartment.” He cleared his throat. “Mom doesn’t mind providing the food, but she would blow her stack if I let you help me on the time clock.”
“Is there something else I can do? Maybe you can show me how to steam the rice.”
“You’d never get the correct consistency or the sourness right. Besides, Dad loves to do the rice himself,” said a voice from behind them. Amy had crept silently into the kitchen. “Uniformity is his pride and joy.”
A shiver ran up Kaitlyn’s spine. When were we transported into a scary movie set? “Okay, tell me what I can help you with. I’m used to working hard for my paycheck, and I still have another hour to go.”
Amy took hold of Kaitlyn’s arms and spoke to her as if she were a child. “We’re all set for tomorrow, Kate. Wouldn’t you like to get home and put your feet up an hour early?”
“Of course I would, but I don’t want to get into trouble with your mother…”
“Jason and I aren’t the type to make things difficult for people who work for a living. Either take off or stick around twiddling your thumbs, but we’re just about done for the night.” Amy gave the mysterious pot another stir and turned off the burner.
“If you’re sure it’s okay, I would love to take a hot bath and hit the sack early. See ya tomorrow.” Kaitlyn pulled off her tunic, threw it in the laundry bag, and strode to her storage cubicle. There was no need to be coming down with a cold or to invent an excuse to leave early. These two spoiled brats made it easy for her.
She jumped in her car and drove away just as the Open sign in the front window was switched to Closed. After one trip around the block, Kaitlyn parked two storefronts down and waited. With her field glasses, she watched the restaurant for thirty minutes and observed nothing out of the ordinary. Lights in the main dining room were off, and no one entered or exited the front door. Tucking her hair into a ball cap, Kaitlyn donned an oversized black sweatshirt that almost reached her knees. With daylight fading, she meandered down the street, turned the corner, and found the back entrance to the alley.
Feeling more foolish than surreptitious, Kaitlyn crept down the alley behind two law offices, one upscale hair salon, and a real estate office. She passed ripe-smelling Dumpsters, several bicycles chained to posts, and one reclusive tabby cat along the way. Just as she neared the delivery entrance to Tanaka Culinary Creations, the sound of voices broke the quiet solitude of the alley. Kaitlyn could hear people but saw nothing. A ten-foot fence, completely covered with kudzu vines, protected the privacy of courtyard diners at Tanaka’s. The only way in was a solid metal gate used by deliverypersons during business hours—a gate that would be locked at this hour.
Seeing two people approach from the other direction, Kaitlyn ducked behind a panel of electric meters and held her breath. But instead of walking past her, a shabbily dressed man and heavyset woman pushed open the gate to the courtyard. Before it swung shut behind them, Kaitlyn caught a glimpse of patrons clustered around the patio tables.
Is this what Amy and Jason are doing—running their parents’ restaurant after hours and keeping the money for themselves? No wonder profits were off by a grand each month.
With mounting indignation, Kaitlyn plucked at the kudzu to create a peephole into their clandestine activities. She would take photos to show Mrs. Tanaka exactly the kind of kids she had coddled and pampered for years. But Kaitlyn’s expanding window into their world did nothing to mitigate her confusion. Instead of the Tanakas’ usual dressed-for-success lunchtime clientele, an odd assortment of people sat at the tables, perched on overturned milk crates, or leaned against the fence. Men, women, teenagers, and even one young mother with a baby talked and laughed as they dined on soup and sandwiches and whatever gourmet cuisine hadn’t sold from the take-out coolers. Music played from unseen speakers, adding a convivial mood. Amy and Jason moved through the crowd like hosts at a society cocktail party. They topped off plastic cups with lemonade, encouraged diners to refill their soup bowls, and tucked sandwiches and containers of cold seafood salad into battered backpacks and frayed coat pockets.
One aspect about these partygoers was clear to Kaitlyn from first glance. Without a shadow of a doubt, every one of these guests was homeless. Amy and Jason, the spoiled, living-large college kids, weren’t stealing food from their frugal parents to sell from a food wagon across town. They were running their own version of a soup kitchen from seven to eight o’clock from the back alley. Now how exactly would she explain this to her client, the hardworking, penny-pinching Mrs. Tanaka?
THIRTY
It had been a long time since Michael had had such a sleepless night. After their impromptu meeting in Johnson Square, he and Beth had returned to the hotel, pretending that everything was hunky-dory. Yet nothing was right between them. While he went for a five-mile run, Beth chose to work out in the fitness room. When he cut the run short and showed up dressed to pump iron, Beth was on her way to the pool. Then when he casually meandered to the rooftop, his partner was nowhere in sight. So he bought a take-out dinner and ate it in his room in front of the TV. Miserable and alone—the way he’d been before they met, and probably how he would be for the rest of his life.
He no more believed Mrs. Doyle was a murderer than Beth did, but aggravating the Tybee Island police wouldn’t do them any good. And it would
make life that much harder for Kaitlyn once they went home. His insistence that they sit on their thumbs waiting for Rossi didn’t demonstrate much faith in their client. Evelyn was still their client, whether or not she continued her arrangement with Price Investigations. And Beth was his partner as well as his girlfriend. He needed to support her, no matter what.
Pulling himself out of bed, Michael showered and punched her number on his phone. He had no desire to exercise or go to breakfast or spend more time on email. He needed to hear her voice and clear the air between them. But before the call went to voice mail, a ding indicated an incoming text: “If that’s you calling me, Preston, I suggest you open your door.”
When Michael complied, Beth marched into his room carrying two steaming cups of coffee and a large white sack. “I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet. Can we sit out on your balcony? My mother would frown on me being in a gentleman’s hotel room, but I don’t think balconies count.”
He opened the sliding door. “I’m surprised you still consider me a gentleman after yesterday. I regret embarrassing you in front of Kaitlyn.”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t that embarrassed. Besides, you wanted to wait. I was the one who insisted we discuss the case in front of her.” She handed him a coffee and a wrapped sandwich. “Egg whites on a whole-grain bagel with low-fat cheese.”
“Thanks, but just for the record, I’m getting tired of healthy food.”
“I saw that one coming awhile ago.” A dimple appeared in her cheek. “I honestly didn’t know about Bonnie’s rent until mere minutes before I saw you.”
Michael took a bite of dry bagel. “I believe you, Beth.”
“Now that we’re dating, honesty should always be our policy.”
He opened the sandwich to eat the egg open-faced. “Sounds like another Rita Kirby maxim.”
“Nope. That happens to be my new motto.” When Beth unwrapped her breakfast, the scent of bacon and melted cheese filled the air. “So that brings up my second reason to visit you.”
