Hot Stuff

by Don Bruns

“If we flushed out the killer, all will be forgiven,” James said. “Furthermore, there’s no evidence we were ever there.”

  I glanced back at the kitchen door, the security camera pointing at me, recording nothing. The CD was in James’s back pocket.

  “Not the most efficient police work.”

  “What do you mean, pard?”

  “James, he doesn’t know if they printed Vanderfield, and they didn’t even bother with Bouvier.”

  “This would not be a good time to tell him how stupid we think he is. He’s a little pissed at us.”

  Em kicked at a piece of gravel, sending the stone out into the alley.

  “Yeah, and I guess my dream of being Mrs. Ted Conway is never going to happen now.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Em called at nine. I was passed out, hoping for a long sleep, but I knew she had to have some news.

  “Vanderfield was printed. Those aren’t his on the murder weapon. And Ted ran some serious interference to get somebody at the lab to run James’s knife early this morning. Guess what? Your roommate’s prints are on his own knife.”

  No surprise.

  “They ran it for all the chemical tests and, thank God, there was no human blood. Traces of this and that, but nothing to raise a red flag.”

  “How much trouble are we in for the break-in last night?”

  “Vanderfield was going to file charges, get Chef Jean involved, until Ted confronted him with the fact that there was no proof anyone had entered. It seems the CD that records all the security cameras was missing. He’s got nothing.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Ted told him if he pursued this in any way, he’d be interfering with an ongoing investigation.”

  “So our cover may be really blown this time.”

  “Maybe, but hang on because here’s the real news.”

  I hung on.

  “Two unidentified prints on James’s knife are identical to two unidentified prints on the murder weapon. It’s a match.” I could sense her smile over the phone. “You guys did it, Skip. Congratulations. Do you hear me? You hit a home run.”

  What is it they say? Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn? That’s us.

  “They’re bringing in Jean Bouvier for fingerprinting later this morning.”

  “How much do you want to bet?”

  “That he did it?”

  “Em, I think she was sleeping with him. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I believe he gave her the job to keep her quiet.”

  “Boy, Skip, you keep pushing my buttons.” The smile in her voice was gone.

  “Are you aware of a Professor Brandt at Sam and Dave?”

  “Changing the subject? Oh, that’s good.”

  “No. Actually, reinforcing a point. Em, I’m trying to figure out why she was killed, and I think I’ve done that.”

  “Suppose you tell me exactly what you think.”

  “I think that Amanda used people even more than you know. Brandt was a professor when Amanda and James were in school. He had an affair with her—”

  “Everybody had an affair with her.” She practically took my head off.

  “Yeah, well, he did, and when he tried to break it off, she accused him of sexual battery.” I was yelling back.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t?”

  “No. But I talked to him. She agreed to drop the charges, and I get the impression it cost him a lot of money.”

  There was nothing on the other end of the line.

  “Em?”

  She was quiet.

  “I think Bouvier may have killed her because she was blackmailing him.”

  Nothing.

  “Em? She had a history of doing that.”

  Silence.

  Finally, I ended the call.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “Bouvier called.” James stood in the doorway, boxer shorts and a Mötley Crüe T-shirt, holding up his cell phone.

  “Yeah?” That couldn’t be good.

  “I was asleep, I mean in fog land, and he calls and says he needs to see me. Right now.”

  “According to Em, he doesn’t know about our break-in last night. Conway threatened Vanderfield with interference in an ongoing investigation. Plus, he pointed out that there was no proof we were there.”

  “Why does he want to see me, then?”

  “James, they’re printing him this morning.”

  “What?”

  “Em called.” I told him about the knife and the unidentified prints.

  “Oh, shit. And he wants to see me? Now that Vanderfield is in the clear, maybe Chef Jean is going to make some excuse, like he found my knife back in the locker room, assumed it was his, and just dropped it in the drawer. That’s how his prints got on it.”

  “Actually, James, that excuse works.”

  “He killed her, Skip. It all makes sense.”

  Last night we were ready to hang Joaquin for the murder. Today it was Bouvier.

  “And it goes back to your jeweler, the sixteen-year-old kid. Amanda basically blackmailed the kid’s old man. Got a nice payday for that, didn’t she? I’ll bet she was trying it on the short chef.”

  “You’re admitting that my background check of the kid is going to lead to the solving of this case?”

  He nodded affirmatively.

  “Then you buy beer for a month, James.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said sheepishly. “But the verdict isn’t in quite yet.”

  “So, are you going to see what he wants? He couldn’t tell you on the phone?”

  “Had to be in person. What the hell, I’ll drive over there, and if he gets crazy on me, I’ll walk out.”

  “If he’s the killer—”

  “Skip, I’ve been with the guy before. I don’t think he’s going to come after me. If we’re wrong and I blow him off, we may never see our six thousand dollars, and right now I could use the money, pally.”

  “I don’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s call Conway.”

  “Give me a break. I can handle the little guy. I could take him down if it came to that. Let me see what he wants.”

  “Not a good idea, James. Let me go with you.”

  “I can handle it, Tonto. I’m intrigued. Especially because he has no idea that we know about the knife drawer.”

  “Drop me off at Em’s. She’s pissed again about my allegations regarding Amanda. Time to make amends.”

  Half an hour later I got out at The Grand. I pressed Em’s bell and she buzzed me in.

  “I’m sorry about being so sensitive, so anal about this thing, Skip. It’s going to stop. Right now. I promise you. I can’t defend this dead girl anymore. Amanda was not a nice person, but I just didn’t realize how conniving she apparently was.”

  I didn’t push it.

  “And do you really think it was a good idea to have James go down to the restaurant? If Bouvier had something to do with the killing, he might be feeling the pressure. I mean, with the cops fingerprinting him at this late date?”

  “James is a big boy. He can probably take care of—”

  Just then the phone rang, the Springsteen ballad at full blast. It was James.

  “Skip. You’re not going to believe this, amigo.”

  “What?”

  “I think we’ve figured out who the killer is. And I believe Bouvier agrees with me. He’s offered us a bonus of another three thousand if we can wrap this up.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Just get down here. Bring Em and don’t say anything to anyone. Seriously. Just the three of us, okay?”

  “Got it.”

  I hung up.

  “What?”

  “Apparently James has figured it out.”

  “Who killed her?”

  “I don’t—” It hit me. Like a ton of bricks.

  “Bouvier knocked her up.”

  “What?”

  “Em, she blackmailed him to get the chef job. She was having his kid. And he stabbed her in the abdomen
.”

  “To make sure the fetus was killed.”

  We were both silent for a moment.

  “It’s preposterous, Skip. Your imagination is over the top.”

  “She did it before.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Bouvier was on the boat. He pushed James into the water.”

  “Your friend Kelly, the baker, was on the boat. And Chef Marty.”

  “Okay, James is waiting for us. He claims he knows who the killer is. Drive me down to the restaurant. They want to see you too.”

  “Should I call Ted?”

  “The Bouviers don’t like cops. If James has it figured out, let him call Conway and rub it in later.”

  “Let me get my keys,” she said heading for her bedroom.

  When she emerged her face had a bound-and-determined look on it.

  “We’re going to actually find out who killed her? Let’s go.”

  The morning was overcast, the smell of rain in the air, and I was glad James had the truck. The windshield wipers didn’t work on his vehicle, but on Em’s new car they came on automatically at the hint of moisture. Pretty cool.

  Pulling into the lot at the rear of the restaurant, I glanced at the truck and Bouvier’s black Escalade. Em’s brand new Jag, the elf’s shiny Cadillac SUV, and James’s truck. What’s wrong with that picture?

  Pulling the back door open I saw only the security lights on, the same ones we’d viewed last night. As the door shut behind us, I was again caught up in the shadows and the almost ghostly look of shapes and objects that looked much different in the harsh light of an evening rush.

  “Where are they?” Em talked in a hushed voice, feeling the eerie sensation that I did.

  “James?”

  No sound.

  “Maybe we should leave, Skip.”

  “Come on, they’re here. His truck is out back, the door was open.”

  I motioned to her and we walked out into the dining room. Tables were stripped bare, chairs turned up so cleanup could vacuum the carpeted floor. The bar was dark, no light behind the colored bottles of alcohol.

  “This place is giving me the creeps.”

  “Let’s try the office.” I led the way, walking down the narrow hallway. The door was closed and the light was off. We continued to the locker room, with no lights at all. I flipped a switch but nothing happened.

  “James?” my voice reverberated off the cold tile.

  “Skip, seriously, we need to get out. There’s no one here.”

  “Where the hell would they have gone?”

  “I don’t know and right now I don’t care.” She tugged my hand, pulling me back toward the kitchen.

  “Hold on. Let me see if the office door is—”

  I pushed on it and it opened. There, in the dim light, was someone sitting at the desk. I flipped the light switch on the wall, but again nothing happened.

  “James?” It looked like him, but there was little light from the kitchen and no light from the other end of the hall.

  Walking up to the chair, my eyes adjusted. It was James. A rope wrapped around his chest, tied to the desk chair. His mouth was stuffed with a piece of cloth and his eyes were wide open in fear. It made no sense. He was trying to shake his head, and as I reached to pull the gag from his mouth the lights came on. Brilliant, starry lights, flashing in my brain and I remember the sharp pain in my head as I passed out from the blow.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  I could sense somebody before I saw them. And when I glanced up from the floor, there he was. Chef Jean Bouvier, the elf, in T-shirt and jeans.

  “I’m somewhat sorry it will end like this. It was never my intention. Believe me, this has all gotten out of hand.”

  I tried to rise then noticed my hands as well as my legs had been duct taped together.

  “What was your intention?” My voice sounded out of body, a little strangled, every word punctuated the sharp pain in my skull.

  “My intention was to find who killed Amanda Wright.”

  “James,” I twisted my head back to see James sitting up in the chair, watching the proceedings, “James said you know who killed her.”

  “I think I’ve known for some time. I just refused to believe it.” He stared down at me.

  There was a stirring next to me and I turned, seeing Em wrapped in the duct tape as well. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “Are you the one who hit me? Us?”

  “No. I couldn’t do that.”

  “So who could?”

  “Chef Jean?” Someone was calling him from the back door, and I wanted to shout, to alert someone that we were in serious trouble. Bouvier shook his head, putting his foot on my chest and I held my voice.

  “Chef?”

  Kelly Fields. I could hear her footsteps coming down the hall. Then the sharp voice of Sophia Bouvier.

  “What are you doing here?” Came Sophia’s voice from the kitchen.

  There was a slight hesitation, then, “I had some prep work to do for tonight and—”

  “No prep work today. We’re doing maintenance this morning. There’s a gas leak.”

  “I wouldn’t be in the way, and—”

  “Did you hear me? There’s a gas leak. Go. Now.”

  The footsteps retreated.

  “She’s not right, you know.” Bouvier stood above me, watching down the hallway.

  I assumed he was talking about his wife.

  “Ever since our child, my son was killed. She obsesses.”

  Em, in a weakened voice, spoke. “Why are we here? Tied up?”

  “She has decided the charade must end.” He pointed toward the toolbox. “Someone took a knife from my drawer. I’m afraid it was the murder weapon, and now they are asking for my prints.”

  “But you didn’t kill Amanda Wright.”

  “No. I’m afraid my wife did that. And it’s only a matter of time before they print her as well.”

  James mumbled through his gag.

  “When you walked out that night, Amanda was already outside, wasn’t she?” I wanted to keep him occupied, but I also wanted answers. “You went out. We saw the video, Chef. Then you turned around and spoke to someone in the doorway. I assume it was your wife. She told you she’d just be a minute, then you walked away. I suppose you were getting your vehicle. We saw Sophia go into your office, come out, and leave the same way you did. So what did she do? Take a Wüsthof knife, walk over and kill Amanda before the two of you left?”

  He squinted his eyes. It appeared as if he might cry and his voice choked. “I didn’t know. I really didn’t know. It never occurred to me that she had the time, and I’d been with her almost all evening. She was only gone for a minute.”

  “And that’s all it took.”

  He nodded, and I could see tears on his cheeks.

  “Actually, I thought she was getting used to the idea.”

  “That you were sleeping with Amanda Wright?”

  “He was.” The short, squat woman walked into the doorway, a deep frown on her face. “I caught them in the shower one night after we had closed.”

  Bouvier bowed his head and nodded.

  “Keep an eye on them, and I’ll take care of the burners.”

  She walked toward the kitchen.

  “What are you planning to do with us?”

  The little guy opened his knife chest, reached inside, and pulled out a Wüsthof nine-inch knife. Studying the blade for a moment, he approached Em, reclining on the floor.

  “No, it does you no good to kill us. They’re still going to print you and Sophia, and they’ll know.”

  “I’m sorry. About everything. This has to be done, and I should have done it half an hour ago.”

  With a flick of his wrist, he cut the tape on Em’s hands, then her legs. Moving swiftly, he sawed at the thin cord holding James, then cut me loose.

  Standing there with knife in hand he motioned to the doorway.

  “Go. Now. Get the hell away from here.”
>
  “And what happens to you?” I wanted to escape with my life, but I needed to know.

  “She killed my child. She said if her child was dead, I could not have one either.”

  Em stepped into the hallway. “Your child?” She glanced at me, her eyes wide open.

  “Amanda was carrying my, our child.”

  The brutal stab wounds to the abdomen. The calls for reports on the autopsy. I was right. It had all been about Amanda being pregnant. I just had fingered the wrong Bouvier.

  “Get out. Before she comes back.”

  I could smell the gas, the sulfurous rotten egg odor they add to natural gas. As we stepped out of the office, I heard her coming.

  “What have you done?” She stood there screaming at Bouvier, waving her hands in the air. “No, no, go back.”

  James was running and the two of us were right behind him. This was crazy town. I looked over my shoulder and caught Bouvier shoving Sophia into the cramped office. He pulled the door shut and appeared to lock it.

  She was screaming at the top of her lungs.

  “What have you done? What have you done?”

  With long strides for a short-legged man, he followed us to the door.

  “Drive. As far away as you can.”

  We didn’t have to be told twice. James and I jumped into the truck, Em got into the Jag and we drove out of the lot, two blocks before she called me on my cell and said to pull over.

  “I called Ted again,” she said when we were all standing in the 7-11 parking lot.

  “Again?”

  “I called him from my condo, Skip. I told him that something was going on at the restaurant, but he was on another call. Somebody has to go back in there and—”

  “And what? They’re crazy people.”

  “Did you smell the gas?”

  We’d gotten out of our vehicles and were looking back at the catastrophe we’d avoided.

  “Hell, yes.” James was looking back down the road toward the eatery.

  “She was going to blow the place up.”

  “Chef Jean locked her up in the office,” I said. “I think he’s got it under control.”

  The explosion rocked the block, shaking the very foundation we were standing on. A huge ball of flame shot into the sky, and we could feel the blistering heat from where we stood. Within seconds ashes and soot came pouring down, small pieces of metal and debris raining from the sky.