A low growl rumbled from behind me. Sean couldn’t see Jude’s expression and therefore didn’t realize that my coworker was just fooling around. I knew I had to respond quickly before Sean got the wrong idea.
“Get your feet off my desk!” I made a shooing gesture at Jude. “This is so unprofessional. Look at you!” Frowning, I gestured at his shirt. “I don’t care what state of dress you’re in when you’re in your office, but this is my office. And don’t call me sweetheart.”
Jude raised his hands in surrender and eased his legs down. “Sorry, Lila. I didn’t mean any harm. It’s just that I’ve been patiently waiting for . . .” Sean must have appeared behind me, for Jude’s words died away and his playful expression instantly vanished.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your work,” Sean said without a trace of emotion. “But I need to commandeer this space. Perhaps you and Lila could relocate to your office.”
“Absolutely. Sorry, Lila.” Slipping his feet into his shoes, Jude pushed the knot of his tie back into place and hustled out like a chastened schoolboy.
At that moment, Sean’s cell phone rang. “It’s dispatch,” he said, bringing the receiver to his ear. “There must be an update on Klara.” And then he spoke to the operator. “Griffiths here.”
I knotted my fingers together. Part of me wanted to know how Klara was doing, but the other part of me wanted to be anywhere but here. Having to stand inert and wait for news while the seconds moved with molasses slowness was torture.
Sean grunted once and then nodded. “They’re sure? Yes, tell the team to get over here ASAP. Thanks, Trudy.”
Ending the call, he exhaled heavily and said, “You were right about Klara. She was poisoned. Most likely by arsenic, though it’ll take time for the lab results to come in. My team’s on the way and I have to get started on those interviews now. We’ve got another murder case on our hands.” He put his arms on my shoulders and squeezed gently. “Are you up to giving a statement after I get the others settled in the conference room?”
I looked at him, unable to process his question. “She’s really dead?”
“I’m afraid so.” He spoke in a hushed tone. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I whispered, my throat dry. “I need to sit down.”
Dropping into one of the chairs facing my desk, I put my face in my hands. I wanted to block out the light, to block out the truth. I wanted a long minute of darkness and silence, but it didn’t bring me any peace. Someone had poisoned Klara Patrick. She was gone.
“It doesn’t seem possible,” I said to myself. “She was full of life an hour ago. Walking and talking and griping about her coffee. I just can’t . . .”
Sean rubbed my back, but I knew he had more important things to do than comfort me, so I told him I’d be fine. “I’ll be ready to give my statement in a little bit. I need to collect myself first.”
“Of course.” He gave my shoulder another squeeze and left.
I sat there, thinking back on all the times I’d watched Klara on television. I remembered seeing her in person for the first time at Catcher in the Rye. She’d been so gregarious, so utterly charming and engaging. And though I’d come to learn that the woman I’d liked and admired as a TV personality could be petty, egocentric, and cruel in real life, I was deeply troubled by her passing.
The fact that someone had murdered her undoubtedly explained my clammy palms and the roiling in the pit of my stomach. After all, there were only a few of us in Espresso Yourself. One of the people I’d come to know by name—Bryce, Ryan, Leslie, Charlene, Dennis, Annie, Carter, or Carrie—was a killer. One of them had dumped arsenic into Klara’s coffee and then sat back to watch her suffer.
“Who could stay so calm when another human being was dying?” I wondered aloud, horror-struck by the notion.
I’d barely begun to consider everyone’s motives when Bentley stormed into my office.
“What on earth is going on here, Lila?” she demanded. “Is this three-ring circus your doing?”
Confounded, I stared at her. “Haven’t you heard what happened to Klara Patrick?”
“What has that woman done now?”
“Bentley, she . . .” I swallowed. “She’s dead. Someone poisoned her at Espresso Yourself.”
“What?” Bentley paled and slowly lowered herself into the chair beside mine.
“It happened about an hour ago. Sean—Officer Griffiths—needs to interview everyone who was in the café when she collapsed. I gave him permission to use our conference room. Didn’t Vicky tell you?”
She shook her head. “She was too busy directing all those people around the agency so I didn’t bother to ask. When I heard the noise in the hall I came right to your office, knowing it’s likely that you had something to do with the commotion.” Her brow furrowed. “We’d better cancel the literary banquet tonight before another crisis strikes, and have a short closing to the event tomorrow to award the contest prize. I’ll have Vicky see to the details immediately. All the ticket holders will have to be reimbursed.” Rubbing her temples, she said, “This is a disaster. First Joel Lang, now Klara Patrick. Our public image will be sullied.”
I was about to respond when she abruptly stood. “I can’t let that happen,” she declared and strode out of my office.
Bentley’s attitude reminded me that even in the midst of this crisis, I had work to do. Although it would be difficult to focus, Jude and I needed to go over those short stories. Checking my bag to make sure I still had the folder, I headed for the door, only to have my path blocked by Sean and another police officer.
Sean was all business. “Lila, could you go over your statement with Officer Davis so he can record it? Then you’ll be free to go.”
“All right,” I said. “We can do mine in the kitchen so you can start the interviews in my office.”
Officer Davis placed a recorder on the table, announced the date, time, and my name, and then gestured for me to begin. I recounted all that had happened from the moment that Ryan had entered Espresso Yourself. He took notes continuously while I spoke.
“When I get this typed up, you’ll have to sign it,” he instructed.
I nodded, having gone through this before. He packed up his recorder and went to join Sean. I headed for Jude’s office, wondering how I’d be able to concentrate on the short stories.
Jude wasn’t there. Propped on his desk was a note. Lila, it read, I had to run an errand. Let’s meet first thing tomorrow.
I was relieved that our meeting was postponed. The trauma of witnessing Klara’s collapse and then having to go over the events again for Officer Davis had drained me. I wanted to go home.
No, not home. What I wanted was to see my mother. Over the past year, I’d come to realize that in times of crisis, my mother could comfort me like no one else. Somehow, with her unique homegrown wisdom and well-intended advice, she helped me find the resilience to carry on.
I glanced down the hall. The other agents’ doors were closed. From the conference room, unintelligible snippets of conversation spilled out. As I walked past my office, I heard the murmuring of voices through the closed door, and wondered whom Sean was interviewing. Had he narrowed down the suspects yet?
In the lobby, Vicky’s desk was unmanned. Most likely she was in the conference room supervising the witnesses. She wouldn’t leave while there were still people in the office. I scribbled on her notepad to let her know I’d gone for the day and headed downstairs.
As I passed Espresso Yourself, I couldn’t help but peer through the door. The forensic team was hard at work. A woman was taking photographs while another officer was dusting the fixing station for fingerprints. Their presence seemed like an unwelcome infestation of Makayla’s peaceful, happy place. I wanted to erase what had happened here, to return Espresso Yourself to the cozy café it had been this morning. A quote from Joseph Conrad came to mind. “There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies—which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world—what I
want to forget.” Sadly, I turned away and went out to my Vespa.
It was a beautiful evening for a scooter ride. The cerulean sky was cloudless and the sun was beginning its descent. But my pleasure was eclipsed by thoughts of Klara’s murder. Her death, and Joel’s, dogged me like shadows. I was determined to find out who had so casually taken their lives and in the process tainted the character of Inspiration Valley and the agency’s festival.
Preoccupied by the day’s sad and disturbing events, I barely noticed the meadows of tall grass and wildflowers passing by. Before I knew it, I had arrived at my mother’s house. She was sitting in her rocker on the front porch, and as I pulled up, she stood.
“I had a notion you’d show up here,” she said, shielding her eyes from the setting sun. “I heard some of what happened to that chef lady on my police scanner, so I knew you’d wanna hash things out with me over a nice, cold drink.”
Placing my helmet in the basket on the back of my scooter, I climbed the steps. “Oh, mama.” I sighed, kissing her cheek. “You do know what I need.”
“’Course I do. A glass of sweet tea and a slice of chocolate banana bread still warm from the oven.” She held open the screen door. “Come in, shug, and tell me all about it.”
Aromas of chocolate and baked banana wafted through the hall as I followed her to the kitchen. Sitting at her table, I fortified myself with her amazing homemade bread and a tumbler of sweet iced tea. My mother had flavored the tea with lemon zest and mint. It was both refreshing and energizing.
When she had cleared away my empty plate, my mother sat across from me and put her hands over mine. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened down at Makayla’s café,” she said. “I know just from lookin’ at you that it was an ugly thing.”
I took a deep breath. Having just related it all to Officer Davis, I was reluctant to go over it again. But the warmth from my mother’s hands and the concern emanating from her eyes unlocked something inside me and I found myself recounting my conversation with Ryan and the discovery his children had made about Klara. I described the undercurrent of tension that entered the coffee shop along with Klara, and how both she and Bryce seemed oblivious to the hurt they had caused Ryan. When I came to the part about Klara getting sick and then collapsing, my mother squeezed my hand.
“The thing is, I might have prevented it if I had been paying more attention to all the people around the fixing station.” I concluded with a sigh. “Maybe the coffee was spilled on purpose to create even more confusion than was already there and to take the focus off Klara’s beverage. When I came back with the towel, her cup was just sitting there with no lid. Any one of those people could have slipped the arsenic, or whatever it was, into her drink.”
“Lila, you couldn’t have stopped that wickedness any more than you could keep a bull that’s been bit on the rump by a horsefly from chargin’. Stop blamin’ yourself. Whoever killed that woman would have done it no matter what.”
“But who killed her? Almost everyone there had some reason to want to get back at Klara.” I took a sip from my glass while I sifted through the names of the people who were at Espresso Yourself. “Even though Ryan was playing the wounded husband, he certainly had a strong motive. Klara betrayed him and flaunted her affair openly.”
“Humiliation can make folks do things they wouldn’t regularly do,” my mother concurred.
“And Ryan’s twins, Carrie and Carter, hated Klara. Not only because of the kind of stepmother she was to them, but also because of the way she treated their father.” I stared at my mother. “Do you think a person as young as Carrie or Carter could poison someone?” I couldn’t help but remember how they’d reminded me of Trey when I first met them.
“People can surprise you, no matter how old they are.” She downed her drink and got up for a refill.
I gazed into my glass. “Dennis Chapman also had it in for Klara. You heard his outburst at the panel. And there was certainly no love lost between Klara and Leslie Sterling. Klara was very critical of her—so much so that Leslie’s popularity diminished and there were rumors of her show being canceled.” I shook my head. “That’s just what I know. I’m sure there are all kinds of secrets and resentments that I’m not even aware of.”
My mother folded her hands on the table. “I sensed right from the start that Klara was the type to make enemies. And it seems that her worst one finally got to her.”
“Right after Joel got killed, too. Their deaths must be related.”
“One thing’s for certain, Lila,” my mother declared. “The person who killed those two chefs wanted them to suffer. Because they suffered, sure enough.”
• • •
I PASSED A quiet evening at home. I had hoped that Sean would have joined me for supper, but he’d called to say he wouldn’t be able to come over until later. So I cooked myself an omelet with tomatoes, green onions and goat cheese, and watched some TV before putting on my pajamas and climbing into bed. I tried to occupy my mind by reading the short story entries for the agency’s contest, but my mind kept wandering. When I heard Sean’s key in the lock, I jumped out of bed to greet him.
“You’re so late, I thought you wouldn’t be coming.” I hugged him tightly.
“I did consider calling to cancel, but after the day I’ve had I just needed to see you.” He kissed me. “I figured you could use a bit of company, too.”
“Boy, could I.” I hoped my smile conveyed how glad I was that he was here. “How did the interviews go?”
He shrugged. “We’re still sorting through all the information, but no suspect jumps out immediately.” He gave a half smile. “If you don’t mind too much, could we not talk about it tonight? I know you want to hear everything, but I’d rather not think about Klara Patrick or Joel Lang for the rest of the evening. Okay?”
“Of course.” Now that I really looked at him I could see how exhausted he was. “Why don’t we go to the bedroom and I’ll give you a massage?”
“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
I started out by rubbing his shoulders and he fell asleep almost immediately. Only slightly disappointed, I snuggled up beside him and began to drift off myself. For the first time since Klara’s collapse, my thoughts traveled away from her to dreams of a future with the warm, sweet man lying next to me.
The ringing of the doorbell startled us both awake. Heart pounding, I sat up as the chimes echoed through the quiet house. “Who could that be?” I squinted at the clock. It was after midnight.
“Stay here,” Sean said. “There’s a murderer in town, so let me see who’s there.” He climbed out of bed and went to the dresser to take his gun from its holster. Holding it down by his side, he ventured into the hall.
I ignored his instructions and followed, finding it unlikely that a murderer would ring the doorbell. Light from the streetlamps cast an eerie glow through the transom above the door, turning Sean into a shadowy figure. In this half dark, his pale blue boxers glowed.
The doorbell rang again. With his hand on the knob, Sean called out, “Who’s there?”
“Mom? Is that you?”
Sean pulled open the door and Trey stood on the welcome mat, his mouth agape in surprise.
“Sean? Uh, hey. Uh . . .” Trey tried to peer behind Sean, who stepped behind the open door in order to conceal himself. I think he was embarrassed to have my son see him in his underwear.
At that moment I didn’t care that Sean was feeling self-conscious. Having Trey on my doorstep at this hour sent my imagination in a hundred different directions. “What’s wrong?” I demanded and pulled him inside. “I don’t know what you’re doing here in the middle of the night, but I hope you’re not in any trouble. I’ve had about all the trouble I can handle for today.”
Chapter 11
“I’M HERE BECAUSE I WAS WORRIED ABOUT YOU, MOM,” Trey said, keeping his gaze averted from where Sean hid behind the door.
I hadn’t expected this answer and gave him a quick hug in res
ponse. Deciding it would be prudent to move the conversation out of the front hall, I said, “Come on into the kitchen. I know it’s spring, but I’ll make us some hot chocolate. If nothing else, it’ll soothe my nerves.”
“Sounds great.” Trey’s voice was full of relief. Without looking at Sean, he hurried down the hallway.
Covering a smile with my hand, I turned to Sean. “Go on, cover up that manly bod of yours.”
Sean wore an expression of dismay. “I thought he knew about us . . .”
“He does,” I assured him. “But it’s one thing to be aware that your mother is involved with someone and quite another to show up at her place to find the man she’s dating in his boxer shorts. This isn’t how kids care to picture their mothers. To Trey, I’m the woman who cooks and gardens and nags him to turn down his music or clean up his room. He doesn’t see me as a single woman with an active love life.”
“It’d be even more active if people didn’t keep dying in this town,” Sean grumbled and then jerked his thumb toward the bedroom. “I’m going to make myself decent. Should I give you two some privacy?”
I shook my head. “That’s sweet, but if Trey drove home in the middle of the night because of me, then he’s really worried. I could use your help convincing him that I’m not in any danger.”
“You got it.” Sean stepped out from behind the door and tiptoed down the hall, trying to move lightly on his feet. Holding the gun by his side, his movements were a bit ungainly and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
In the kitchen, I took a bar of semisweet chocolate from the cupboard and began to chop it into pieces. As I worked, I asked Trey to tell me what had spurred him into coming home.
“Inspiration Valley is all over the news, Mom,” he said. “Two celebrity chefs dead in a single weekend. Murdered. Chefs involved in a festival you helped arrange. I was just finishing my last big project due before spring break when this reporter appeared on the TV screen in the common room. She was doing interviews right in front of Espresso Yourself. I took one look at that yellow police tape and I thought about you working away in your office right upstairs and . . .” He trailed off but not before I heard the catch in his voice.
Books, Cooks, and Crooks (A Novel Idea Mystery) Page 15
