Murder Served Hot

by Nancy Skopin

  “Anderson.”

  “Hunter.”

  “Hey babe, where are you?”

  “We’re in the office. Just got back from Brooke’s. Where are you?”

  “I’m onboard your boat. Are you coming down any time soon?”

  “I need to work tonight. I was hoping you could spend the evening with Buddy again.”

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  My next call was to Elizabeth. I’d spotted her VW Beetle in the owner’s lot, so I knew she was home.

  She answered on the second ring. “Hi honey. What are you up to?”

  “I need to do a dinner survey at Michelino’s in San Mateo, and I was hoping you’d come along. I know you have to work tomorrow, but I could really use a sounding board.”

  “Sure. As long as you don’t keep me out too late. When are you picking me up?”

  “Fifteen minutes. I just need to get Buddy down to the boat and change clothes.”

  “See you then.”

  I hooked Buddy’s leash to his collar, locked up the office, and trotted toward the gate.

  Once Bill and Buddy were settled in the pilot house watching the news, I stripped off my shorts, shirt, and shoes, and slipped into a black halter dress and a pair of peep-toe pumps. I scrunched some gel into my curls, swiped on some red lip gloss, and touched up my mascara, then transferred everything from my shoulder bag and fanny pack holster to my black pistol purse.

  Giving Bill a quick kiss and Buddy an ear scratch, I said, “Thank you for watching the pup,” and scrambled up the companionway.

  Elizabeth was waiting on her dock steps when I arrived at her trawler.

  “You look fabulous,” she said, and took my arm as we strode up the ramp to shore.

  Once we were in my Bimmer on our way to San Mateo she turned to me and asked, “What’s happening with the murder investigation?”

  “Well, I have two suspects. There’s the crazy-eyed guy who drives a rattletrap VW van, and there’s a guy named Archer who hired Stanley to handle an audit for his company. I think Stanley caught him embezzling.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  In the fifteen minutes it took us to reach 25th Avenue in San Mateo, I managed to fill Elizabeth in on all of the details of Stanley’s case to date.

  “So, what do you think?” I asked.

  “I like Archer for it. You might be right about the van driver stealing Stanley’s orchid, but that doesn’t make him a killer. Just a thief.”

  “Then why was he at Stanley’s office when he was shot?”

  “Maybe he wanted to make sure Stanley was at his office before he went to his house to steal the orchid. I think Archer has more to lose. He lied to you about how much money he left in Stanley’s office, right? Faulkner said there wasn’t enough charred cash to amount to fifty thousand. So I think we can assume that Archer was lying about what happened to Stanley too.”

  “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”

  We locked up the car and approached the restaurant.

  “Anything special the owner wants you to watch for tonight? Are you counting Al’s drinks again?”

  The last time Elizabeth had been to Michelino’s with me I’d been tasked with counting the number of drinks one of the bartenders had during his shift. The owner wasn’t concerned about a few drinks, but in the ninety minutes I’d been there I’d watched Al prepare and consume five screwdrivers. The man was Italian and had amazing alcohol tolerance. He was still functioning fully when I left for home.

  “Not tonight. There’s a new server I’m supposed to check out. After I caught Martina till tapping I suggested running background checks before hiring new servers, but the owner prefers to trust his own instincts. I shouldn’t complain. It’s that kind of thinking that keeps me in business.”

  The new server’s name was Dominic, and his area of the restaurant was up front by the windows. Not knowing when I’d get there, I hadn’t bothered to make a reservation, and no tables were available in Dominic’s area at the moment. I told the maître d’ we’d wait in the bar until something opened up.

  Al was on duty. He smiled at me as we perched on stools at his end of the bar. Al is in his sixties and has a full head of wavy white hair and a lazy, Dean Martin smile. Last time he’d served me he had asked if I was single because he had two sons he wanted to introduce me to. I’d found him charming, and he was an excellent bartender, in spite of his drinking habit.

  Al placed napkins on the bar in front of us and asked what we’d like to drink. I ordered a bottle of Perrier and Elizabeth requested a tall mudslide. Al gave her a wink and immediately served my water in a glass filled with ice and a wedge of lime, then set about preparing the mudslide. His hands were skilled and his movements almost elegant as he mixed the ingredients in an old fashioned cocktail shaker. After pouring the chocolaty concoction into a tall glass he carefully added some shaved dark chocolate to the top and offered it to Elizabeth along with a wrapped straw.

  “Enjoy,” he said, and moved down the bar to take care of another customer.

  Elizabeth took a sip. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “That guy is an artist! This is the best mudslide I’ve ever tasted.”

  “When he comes back you should tell him that.”

  “I definitely will. So what else is going on in your life?”

  “Well, Nina’s back.”

  Elizabeth choked on a swallow of her drink and I slapped her on the back until she could breathe normally again.

  “Next time you have news like that, please wait until I’m done swallowing!”

  “Sorry. You asked.”

  “When did she get back, and how do you know she’s back?”

  “Actually, I don’t know for sure that it’s her, but Bill caught two cases this week where men were killed with a long, double-edged knife coated with garlic.”

  “That sounds like Nina all right. Two in one week? She’s been busy. Who were the victims?”

  “A guy named Nick Lawrence was found on Wednesday morning in his garage. He lived in Westport. The second victim was Edward Mitchell. He was a personal injury attorney who lived on Mohican Way. The only thing they had in common was an association with Alfredo Giordano.”

  “Wait. I know that name.”

  “He was another one of Nina’s victims. She killed him last December. He’s the guy who lived up in Woodside Hills. You and Jack followed Nina home from his house the morning after she killed him.”

  “Oh yeah. Good times.” She smirked and drank some more of her mudslide.

  The maître d’ chose that moment to approach and informed us that a window table had become available. Al returned from serving other patrons and asked if we’d like our drinks added to our dinner tab.

  “Yes, thank you, Al,” I said.

  He handed a drink slip to the maître d’, and as he withdrew his hand Elizabeth touched his wrist and said, “You make an amazing mudslide, Al. Best I’ve ever tasted.”

  Al beamed at the praise, raised Elizabeth’s hand, and kissed it. “It was my pleasure,” he crooned.

  I would enjoy adding these little flourishes to my report. The owner hadn’t requested a bar survey, but I’d toss it in for free, giving Al his much deserved props.

  The maître d’ carried our drinks to the dining room on a tray, placed them on the table, and pulled out our chairs for us, waiting until we were seated before placing cloth napkins on our laps. He informed us that our server would be Dominic, bowed slightly, and departed.

  Dominic approached the table immediately. Handing each of us a menu, he introduced himself and asked if we’d like to hear tonight’s specials. He was in his late twenties, dark haired, clean shaven, and quite handsome.

  Elizabeth smiled and said, “I’d love to hear th
e specials, Dominic.”

  Her suggestive tone caught him off guard and he blushed, cleared his throat, and proceeded to recite the entrées the chef recommended tonight.

  Elizabeth listened with rapt attention until he was done and I asked if we could have a few minutes with the menu.

  “Very good,” he commented, and left to tend to his other tables.

  “You,” I said, “are an outrageous flirt.”

  “I know. So what are you going to do about Nina?”

  “Maybe nothing. I called J.V. and he suggested I stay out of it. I asked him to speak with Scott about the situation and let me know if he agreed. According to J.V., I’ve already done what Scott originally hired me to do, and he doesn’t want me to take any unnecessary risks where Nina is concerned.”

  “He’s right. You have enough on your plate with Stanley’s murder, and Nina is unpredictable. You need to stay safe.”

  “All killers are unpredictable, and safety is an illusion.”

  “That may be true, but it’s nice illusion.”

  We considered the menu options and when Dominic returned I requested the Mushroom Asiago Chicken entrée and a house salad, and Elizabeth opted for the Garlic, Mozzarella, and Pesto Stuffed Pork Chops with the Caesar Salad. Dominic collected our menus, offered Elizabeth a shy smile, and went to place our orders.

  “Yummy,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “Aren’t you getting married sometime next year?”

  She laughed out loud at my comment, and a few heads turned to see what was so funny.

  “Nikki, honey, as much as I love Jack McGuire, I will never stop appreciating beautiful men.”

  “Whatever.”

  Dominic returned shortly and served our salads. The greens were fresh, and my house dressing, creamy Italian, of course, was delicious. Two minutes after setting the salad plates on the table, he returned to ask if everything was to our satisfaction. This is one of the things I time, and Dominic was doing a first-rate job so far.

  When we’d almost finished our salads, he served our entrées. My Mushroom Asiago Chicken was the perfect combination of tender chicken breasts, butter, mushrooms, garlic, white wine, heavy cream, and Asiago cheese. Each bite literally melted in my mouth. Elizabeth moaned as she chewed the first taste of her stuffed pork chops.

  We enjoyed our meal and each other’s company enormously. When Dominic offered dessert, Elizabeth checked her watch and said, “Another time. I’m about to turn into a pumpkin.”

  Dominic left our table and went behind the bar where all the servers record their orders. He returned with a black leather folder containing a cash register receipt, bowed, said, “Thank you very much, ladies,” and departed.

  I read over the receipt and noted that it included our drinks from the bar and the correct entrées and salads, for the correct amounts. I placed a stack of cash in the folder and pocketed the receipt.

  Driving back to the marina Elizabeth chattered about a wedding dress she’d seen in Modern Bride magazine.

  “It’s a high-necked beaded halter, off-white of course, but the fabric covering the cleavage region is chiffon so it’s translucent. Some Italian guy designed it. Wait till you see it. So gorgeous!”

  I couldn’t help laughing at her enthusiasm about a dress she’d wear only once. Of course, she and Jack might end up being one of those couples who renew their vows annually, but knowing Elizabeth she’d want a new dress every year.

  I walked Elizabeth to the locked gate, then opened the office just long enough to drop off my notes and receipt for the dinner. I’d type the report tomorrow. Right now, I just wanted some Buddy and Bill time.

  Chapter 26

  On Friday morning I hit the gym early and worked both my upper and lower body to make up for missed workouts. I got home in time to have breakfast with Bill and Buddy, and still made it to the office by 8:00 for my meeting with Faulkner.

  Once again he asked me for the journal and, once again, I told him he couldn’t have it yet. He just glared at me.

  “Take the copy,” I said. “You can look it over and, if you still want the original, I’ll trade you for the copy in a few days. You’re coming to the Orchid Club meeting tonight, right?” I took the journal copy out of the safe and gave it to him.

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Buddy and I followed Faulkner outside and we walked together to the parking lot. Before getting into his Chevy P.O.S. he turned to me with a quizzical look in his eyes. “When you cornered Archer yesterday morning, you said he told you he’d embezzled the money so he could afford his trophy wife, correct?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I checked. Archer doesn’t have a wife. In fact, he’s never been married. I thought you’d want to know.”

  What the fuck?

  “Why would he lie about something like that?” I asked. “That was a pretty elaborate excuse. Not only did he tell me he was married, he said he was paying alimony to two ex-wives.”

  “No idea. See you tonight.”

  Faulkner started his car as I loaded Buddy into my BMW. At the last minute I remembered the tape. I jogged back to the Chevy before Faulkner pulled away. He rolled down his window and I took the tiny cassette out of my purse.

  “Do you have a mini cassette player?” I asked, handing him the tape.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I think I can dig one up.”

  I arrived at Brooke’s condo complex at 8:40 and sent Jim home.

  Brooke and Robbyn spent the morning going over more tedious funeral details. Brooke had somehow gotten a copy of Stanley’s client list from Faulkner and had called everyone to let them know about the service.

  “What about his friends?” I asked.

  Brooke’s lower lip trembled, “Stanley didn’t have any friends. Only me.”

  I was afraid the water works were about to begin again, but she pulled herself together.

  “Detective Faulkner is coming to the meeting tonight,” I said.

  “Fabulous,” said Robbyn. “He is such a hottie, especially for a cop.”

  “You think?” I said. Faulkner was good looking and intelligent, but I wouldn’t have classified him as a hottie. I looked over at Brooke and noticed that she was blushing. “What do you think?” I asked her.

  She looked trapped, but Robbyn came to her rescue. “She’s in mourning,” she said. “But she likes him… a lot.”

  “Really?”

  “Totally,” said Robbyn. “But she believes it would be inappropriate to start dating anyone so soon after Stanley’s death.”

  “Stop talking about me as if I weren’t here,” said Brooke.

  “Have you ever gone out with a cop?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Have you?” asked Robbyn.

  “I’ve been dating an RCPD Detective for the last seven months,” I said.

  They both stared at me with their mouths hanging open.

  “What?” I asked.

  “No offense,” said Robbyn, “but you don’t seem like the type.”

  “What type is that?”

  “The type to put up with a dominant male. You’re too independent.”

  “We do have some issues.”

  “Like what?” Brooke asked, with genuine interest.

  “Well, he doesn’t like it when I take risks.”

  “That sounds caring,” said Brooke.

  “And sometimes I bend the law a little. That really pisses him off.”

  “It’s all about control,” said Robbyn. “Cops need to be in control. That’s why they’re cops.”

  “Not all of them,” I said defensively. “Bill’s usually pretty mellow, and he became a cop because he wanted to make a difference.”

  Robbyn still looked ske
ptical, so I told them the story about Bill’s rock band that had gone on tour when he was a teenager, the bunko artist who had tried to bilk them out of their meager savings, the cop who had worked the case, and Bill’s subsequent decision to become a police cadet. They both listened with rapt attention. These two loved a good story.

  When I’d finished my tale, I said, “Anyway, my point is that if you find Faulkner attractive you shouldn’t let the fact that he’s a cop get in the way.”

  Brooke blushed again and looked down into her coffee cup. “You know my history with men,” she said.

  Robbyn nodded, but said, “There’s no point in dwelling on the past, sugar. Everyone makes mistakes. Hell, I wish I had a nickel for every man I shouldn’t have slept with. But Nikki’s right. You should take a shot at Faulkner. If you don’t, I will.”

  Brooke looked at her cousin. “You’re leaving on Sunday.”

  “Yeah, but we could have one hell of a weekend. Besides, I don’t really have to be home until September. I was thinking I might stay a few more weeks.”

  “That would be wonderful,” said Brooke.

  “I have an idea,” I interrupted. “Why don’t we take Faulkner out to dinner tonight after the meeting? Then you can both flirt with him and see who he responds to.”

  “Sounds like fun,” said Robbyn.

  “Okay,” Brooke said. “But he’ll pick Robbyn. Men love Robbyn.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, honey,” said Robbyn. “You’re not exactly chopped liver.”

  We spent the whole day at the apartment, and at 7:00 both women changed into what they thought were appropriate outfits for an orchid club meeting. Robbyn put on her new outfit from Neiman’s, and Brooke wore a pair of rose-colored slacks with a cream silk tank top. I was in Eddie Bauer cargo shorts, a red short sleeved cotton blouse, and running shoes.