by D E Dennis
“Great. Then let’s—”
“But I can’t,” I finished. “I’m going to Veronica Breyfogle’s wake tomorrow night.”
“Veronica Breyfogle? But you didn’t even know―” There was a pause as he put two and two together. “You’re investigating her death, aren’t you?”
There was no point in lying. “Yes, I am, but―”
“Amari, why can’t you trust me to do my job?” he said angrily. “I’ll follow the evidence where it leads and if it leads to Mayor Breyfogle then he’ll be charged to the fullest extent of the law. But as it happens, the evidence doesn’t lead to him. This fire reeks of the arsonist.”
“It’s him, Arnie. The mayor did this and I’m trying to get you the evidence to prove it.”
“Mari, I don’t need you to!” he barked.
“Why are you yelling at me?” I said through gritted teeth.
“Because I―!” He stopped and took a deep breath. He continued in a much more even tone. “Because the person we’re after set fire to a building with innocent people inside. This is someone cold and without mercy and if they find out you’re getting close they may try to hurt you. I can’t go through that again, Mari. The day I got the call saying you had been stabbed and were in the hospital was one of the worst days of my life. Stay out of this, babe. I’m the detective. Just trust me.”
“I do trust you, Arnie,” I said simply.
He sighed. “Alright, thank you. So tomorrow? Are we having dinner?”
I braced myself for another explosion. “I’m still going to the wake. A client asked me to go with her and give her support.”
“Right. Fine.” Click.
“Arnie?” I looked at my phone in disbelief.
He hung up on me.
I threw my phone in my bag and stomped off around the building. Daisy clearly wasn’t making an appearance today and the sooner I began eating my feelings, the better.
MY MOOD HADN’T IMPROVED much the next day. I went to see Timothy Cobb, the other Best Foot Forward employee who escaped from the fire, but he had nothing more to tell me.
The room filled with smoke. Yuri took off. Petra tried to help the people trapped in the back. He had to go after her and drag her out. He didn’t see anyone suspicious. Tad Breyfogle hadn’t visited for weeks. He didn’t see any woman in a black dress.
He was a dead end that cost me my entire lunch break which was upsetting enough, but then Arnie compounded my irritation by refusing to answer my calls or texts.
By the time I pulled up to the gates of Calm Meadows, I was in a foul mood. I told the guards the reason for my visit and then tried to calm down as I weaved through the neighborhood.
Madame Moon didn’t snap at people, because her boyfriend pissed her off. She was serene and mellow. She could handle anything.
I, Mari, parked the car and killed the engine, but Madame Moon stepped out. She was ready.
There weren’t many cars in the drive, which made sense, Nadia had said this was a small wake for family and friends. It was seven in the evening and there was still some light out, but it was retreating fast. I blame the dim light for what happened next.
I decided to cut across the lawn. I rounded some hedges on the way and didn’t see the pair of feet until I tripped over them. I went down with a shout while the owner of the offending legs cried out.
“Ouch!” Gwen cried. She pulled her head out of the bushes and whipped around, rubbing her sore legs. “That hurt,” she complained.
“Yeah, it did,” I grumbled. “What are you doing?”
She suddenly lost her frown. “Come here,” she whispered. She beckoned me over.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I crawled over to see what had her so enthralled.
Four pairs of eyes looked back at me. “Awww,” I couldn’t help saying. There was a tiny litter of orange kittens. “They are so―What are you doing?!” I cried.
Gwen had stuck her head, face-first, into the kitty pile. She inhaled deeply. “They have a lovely scent,” she said to me. She rubbed a particularly vocal kitten with her nose and then gave him a sniff for good measure.
She pulled her head back and sat on her heels. “Here,” she said. She plopped the kitten she had been sniffing in my lap. “Smell him. He smells lovely.”
I looked between her and the furball and contemplated all the life choices that had brought me to this moment, sitting in the dirt being told to sniff a cat. Somewhere along the way something must have gone horribly wrong.
“Um, that’s okay,” I said slowly. “I’ll take your word for it.”
I went to give the mewling kitten a scratch behind the ears, but Gwen caught my hand. “Scent is everything, Amari.” Since when were we on a first-name basis? “It’s the most important of the five senses. A scent has the power to bring forth memories, fill you with joy, warn you of danger and transport you in time to a better place.”
I tried to pull out of her grasp, but she had me in a viselike grip. She moved closer to me, unsettling me with the intensity in her eyes.
“I want to create my own line of perfumes,” she said fervently. “Bottle passion and sunlight and”―she gazed at the kitten―“and new life.”
“That’s...that sounds nice actually,” I said. “I think that would suit you.”
She beamed. It was a beatific smile that transformed her whole face. “I knew you would understand, Amari. Daddy won’t give me the money. And Mom.” Her eyes filled with furious tears. “Mom wanted me to be a lawyer or doctor or Supreme Court judge or whatever else popped into her head. They never got me, but I knew you would.”
She lurched forward and threw her arms around me. I was stiff and didn’t put my arms around her in return, but this didn’t deter her. “You know what it’s like to be different,” she said softly into my ear. Goose bumps erupted all over my body. She sighed deeply. “You smell so good.”
“Okay,” I said quickly, “we should get inside. We don’t want to be late for―”
“Like cinnamon incense and steaming hot cups of apple tea. I just want to―” Something warm and wet traveled up my cheek.
I wrenched myself out of her arms with a shout. “O-kay! I really have to go.” I practically took off running. I was halfway to the entrance when I realized I still had a handful of kitten.
I held him up to my face. He looked back at me gravely. “I bet you’d rather be in my clutches than hers,” I said with a shiver. “I’ll bring you back when the coast is clear.”
I settled him in my purse and climbed the stairs to the front door. It was open so guests could let themselves in. I heard the muted sounds of music and followed it until I reached the living room.
The atmosphere was thick with sorrow. People milled around dressed in all black and speaking softly to each other. I felt like an intruder. I had wanted another chance to get inside this house but not like this. Then my eyes fell on Tad Breyfogle.
He was the picture of a grieving widower. Standing off to the side, trying to look brave whenever someone approached and offer condolences. I was overtaken by fury. All the pain in this room was caused by him and although I wanted to respect Veronica and her wake, I also owed it to her to bring her killer to justice.
Mind made up, I stepped out of the room before anyone could register my presence. This was the perfect opportunity to take a look around. I tiptoed quietly down the halls, poking my head into random rooms. I pushed open one door opposite the grand staircase and found myself in another living room. This one smaller and set up for entertainment. There was a big screen TV, a fancy gaming system that I knew nothing about, a grand piano, and, most interestingly, dozens of family photos.
The pictures drew me in. They covered almost every inch of the walls and surface space and showcased the Breyfogle family from before they even were a family to now. Resting on the piano was a small photo of a young Veronica and Tad. Their smiles were radiant. They looked so happy and in love.
I put my purse on the piano. “Wh
at happened?” I whispered.
“Excuse me?”
I jumped and spun around. A slim woman with a severe bun and spotless chef’s coat stood in the doorway.
“What are you doing in here?”
“I’m so sorry,” I said quickly. “I got turned around coming out of the bathroom. I ended up in here and couldn’t resist looking at the photos.” I sighed. “They were such a beautiful family.”
Her stern gaze softened ever so slightly. “Yes, they were. It’s such a tragedy. Mrs. Breyfogle will be dearly missed.”
I carefully picked up my purse and walked toward her. “Are you the Breyfogle’s chef?”
She nodded. “I am.”
I smiled. “Then let me say now how much I enjoy your cooking. I was lucky enough to taste your filet mignon at the party for the councilmembers and my mouth is still watering. You’re a culinary genius.”
It didn’t show on her face, but she was bursting with happiness at my compliment. She stood a bit straighter. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said evenly. “I appreciate your kind words.”
I smiled. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to have the recipe. Is that possible?”
She finally cracked, smiling back. “Well...I don’t see why not. Follow me.”
She set a brisk pace and I hurried to keep up with her. She led me to the back of the house and into the kitchen.
“You can call me Chef Tatiana. I keep all my recipes in here.” She bent down and slid open the pan tray under the stove. “Don’t tell anyone.”
I laughed. “Your secret is safe with me.” I took a seat on a kitchen stool next to the island. “But why keep it a secret in the first place?”
She came over and pulled up her own stool. “You’re not the first guest to want one of my recipes, but you are one of the few to ask permission to take it.”
“You mean people just come in and help themselves?”
She nodded. “Between sneaky politicians and nosey book club members, I have my hands full. People tried for years to poach me from the Breyfogles, but I’ll never leave. I was in a bad place when I met Mrs. Breyfogle. Homeless. Couldn’t afford a pair of shoes. I came into her store one day and she was kind to me. I came back a few times and mentioned to her that I used to be a cook. She told me her family was looking to hire a chef and that was that.”
She smiled softly. “Anyway, when people realize I won’t leave; they try to poach my recipes instead. If only they knew I was happy to share, just not with thieves,” she said as she flipped through the book.
“Well, I doubt anyone has recipe-nabbing on their minds tonight.”
Tatiana shook her head sadly. “An awful business. The wickedness of man, that someone’s heart could be so black with sin that they would sentence innocent people to die in such a horrible way.”
I nodded. “I feel so sorry for her children and husband. To have someone you love ripped away from you like that with no chance to say goodbye.”
“Awful, awful. Just awful.”
“Where were they when it happened?” I asked.
Tatiana pursed her lips as she thought. “Gwen was upstairs in her room fiddling with those foul concoctions she calls perfume.” I listened intently as Tatiana spoke. I was very thankful most chefs seem to share a love of gossiping. “Little Ollie was out with his friends as usual and Mr. Breyfogle was in his offi― wait, no. He actually went out that morning as well. He usually spends every Saturday morning in his office working, but last Saturday he almost knocked me over when I ran into him on the stairs. There was some kind of emergency. He looked quite upset, angry. And when he returned home hours later, it was to the news his wife’s workplace had been burned down. He was a complete wreck.”
I bet he was, I thought sardonically. Out loud, I gasped. “Oh goodness, what was the emergency? You mean tragedy struck that poor man twice in one day?”
Chef Tatiana nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so. He didn’t say what the emergency was or where he went, but he looked very upset about it. That coupled with the loss of his wife.” She tsked. “It’s just too much.”
I nodded. “I had no idea he was dealing with so much. Of course, I want to do as much as I can to support him and their children in their time of need.”
Tatiana found the recipe and freed it from the binder. She handed it over to me with a smile. “You are very kind. Mr. Breyfogle is lucky to have a friend like you in these dark times. Are you on the city council?” she asked.
I took the recipe, shaking my head. “No, I didn’t meet them through the mayor’s work,” I said, seeing no reason to lie. “Veronica and I met through a friend of hers, Nadia Blake. I’m Nadia’s psychic.”
Tatiana leaned back in her seat. “You’re her what?” she said slowly.
“Her psychic,” I repeated.
Her whole demeanor changed. Her lip curled and she screwed up her face like she smelled something bad. “Get out,” she hissed.
I blinked at her. “What?” I said, shocked.
“You heard me, devil woman! I said get out!” She snatched the recipe out of frozen fingers. “What do you think you’re playing at coming into this godly home?!”
“I was...invited,” I finished awkwardly, but her sneer didn’t lessen. She stood and her chair toppled to the floor.
“I want you out of my kitchen!” she bellowed. “And don’t ever step foot in here again!”
“Chef Tatiana, please calm―”
She grabbed a knife from the rack and brandished it. I leaped out of my seat, scrambling away. “Get behind me, Satan!” she screamed, and I ran out of there. I raced down the hallway, dashed toward the entrance and bolted out the front door. I skidded to a halt on the front porch when I realized she wasn’t following me.
I sucked in lungfuls of precious air. It had been a long time since I ran anywhere. I spent my days sitting my backside in the Reading Room and then went home and sat on my backside in my living room. Running wasn’t my thing, but neither was getting stabbed by lunatics.
Once was enough.
When my heart was no longer pounding its way out of my chest, I fixed my hair, smoothed down my skirt and took the mewling kitten out of my purse and put him in the crook of my arm.
Don’t let this house of assorted nuts rattle you, Moon. You need to go back in there and read Brey―
I turned and there he was, standing in the porch light.
“Nadia said you were coming,” Tad Breyfogle sneered. “She told me why as well, although I’m still tempted to have you removed from my property.”
“I’ll leave if you want me to, Mayor Breyfogle,” I said serenely, albeit slightly out of breath. “I don’t want to cause a scene. I just want to find the person who killed your wife and five innocent people.”
He snorted. “And you think you’re going to do that psychically?” He mockingly waved his hands about. “I don’t believe in all that stuff. You’re a fake and you’re feeding off my family’s grief to make a quick buck. It’s disgusting.”
I tapped my chin and hummed. “There are a few problems with that theory, Mayor. The most glaring being that the police aren’t paying me to find the killer. You’re not paying me to find the killer. So who exactly am I trying to make a quick buck from?”
He sputtered. “Don’t give me that! Nadia is―”
“Nadia is receiving free sessions while she processes the grief of losing a close friend. I don’t do this to scam people out of their money. I have a gift and I want to use it to help people. That’s it.”
His sneer weakened for a moment. He looked unsure. “I still don’t buy your whole act.”
I shook my head. “Oh, but you do.” I smirked. “That’s why you’re so angry, because I saw through to the feelings you try so hard to keep hidden.”
He bared his teeth. “Get out of here!” He looked at the kitten. “And take that flea hotel with you!”
“I’ll leave,” I said calmly, stroking the kitty’s soft fur. “But if you change your
mind and decide you do want to find the person responsible for killing your wife and the mother of your children, then Nadia can tell you how to contact me.” I turned to leave. I walked down the front steps, but then paused and said over my shoulder, “Unless of course, you don’t want to use every resource at your disposal to get justice for your wife. Maybe there’s a reason you’re willing to let the killer get away.”
“What? I’m not letting the―”
“Where were you when your wife was killed, Tad?” I said bluntly. “I know you weren’t home. You rushed out of here and came back in quite a state.”
“It’s none of your business where I was!” He was redder than a maraschino cherry.
“Did you visit your wife at her job? Maybe came in through the back door?”
His eyes bugged out. “What are you implying!?” he bellowed.
I shrugged. “Just that I think you’re missing a tie clip,” I said slowly.
He screwed up his face and looked down at his chest. His tie clip was still where it was supposed to be. “You’re nuts!” he cried. He spun around and slammed the door shut behind him.
“I wish I could have gotten a little closer,” I said to the now sleeping kitten.
“Why? To piss him off even more?”
I spun around. “Who’s there?” I cried.
“Because you were already doing an excellent job of that,” the person finished smoothly. A figure rounded the side of the house and loped toward me.
“Who are you?”
He smirked. “Can’t you guess?”
I sized him up, squinting in the dim light. A teenager, most likely Kellan’s age. Expensive clothes, small stature, and brilliant long red hair hanging past his shoulders.
“You’re Oliver Breyfogle,” I said.
“Ding. Ding. Ding!” He laughed.
I frowned. “What are you doing out here?”
He shrugged. “I’m sneaking out. It turns out wakes are boring as hell. Although I did enjoy watching you rile up the Donor so thanks for that.” He laughed again and I unconsciously took a step back. What’s wrong with this kid?
“Oliver...you’ve just lost your mother. You should stay and say goodbye to her properly.”
