by Wendy Tyson
“Hey, Alvaro,” Megan said, “I think those sandwiches may be burning.”
Alvaro jumped. Deftly he pulled the Cubanos off the stove and slid them onto plates. She watched as he sliced the sandwiches, eyeing the layers of ham, slow roasted pork, and melted cheese. To the plate he added a scoop of red-skinned potato salad and a large pile of fragrant sautéed kale with garlic and cumin seeds. Despite the sandwich she’d eaten recently, her stomach rumbled.
Alvaro rang a bell that sat on a slim counter by the stove. Within seconds, Clover joined them in the kitchen. She balanced three of the dishes and left the room with a smile. She was back a few seconds later for the remainder.
“Keep it up, Alvaro,” Clover said. “They love the Cubanos. And Mrs. Henry wants a bowl of roasted corn chowder.”
Alvaro filled a deep ceramic bowl—made by a local artisan—with the creamy soup. To that he added a dollop of sour cream, some freshly ground pepper, and chopped fresh chives. He rang the bell again, but it was barely a ding—not the exuberant ring she was used to hearing.
Once Clover had come back in and left again with the soup, Megan put down the chef’s knife and turned to her cook. “Spill it. What’s eating you?”
Alvaro continued sautéing garlic and spices, his back to her.
“Alvaro?”
“Nothing, Megan. I’m fine.”
“Something’s bothering you.” She walked around the side of the huge gas stove so she could see his face. Bags under his eyes, a day’s growth of white beard. Very unlike Alvaro. He was always impeccably groomed and on his game. “Alvaro?” Megan said softly. “Are you okay?”
Clover called out, “Two more Cubanos, one with no pickles.”
“Then it’s not a Cubano,” Alvaro barked.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” To Megan, Clover said, “Bobby’s here for you. He wants those huevos rancheros you promised.”
In addition to being Winsome’s youngest-ever police chief, Bobby King was also Clover’s boyfriend. She was a free spirit, he tended toward uptight. She grew up on a commune, the daughter of a house cleaner and a father she never knew; King’s father was a Lutheran minister, his mother the pianist at the local church. Clover had never been to a party she didn’t like; King preferred football games and quiet nights at home. The two were as opposite as they came, but somehow it worked.
As Winsome’s police chief, King was earnest and fair. Megan hoped she could pick his brain about what was happening at the Center. One glance at Alvaro told Megan that her chef was in no mood to make the wonderful egg dish he was known for. Megan asked Clover to see if a Cubano would work for Bobby, with some soup—all on the house.
Clover returned quickly. “That’ll be fine, especially if you top off the meal with a serving or two of Alvaro’s Dulce de Leche.”
Megan said, “Another Cubano, then, Alvaro.”
Alvaro nodded, and Megan knew she wasn’t getting anything but food out of her chef tonight. Whatever was bugging him would have to wait.
Megan placed a bowl of soup and a slice of Bibi’s bread in front of the Chief of Police, thanking him for coming. He smiled broadly and picked up the spoon, digging in immediately.
After a few spoonfuls, he looked up at Megan and said, “That detective Lewis is a hard ass.”
“Tell me about it.”
“The other one, Jones, isn’t much better, but she at least called me back.”
“And?”
“And there’s not too much to say at this point.” King put down his spoon and took a long swig of the sweet tea Clover had brought him. “Thana was strangled in her van. Pretty cut-and-dry from a detective’s point of view. What I mean is that it was clearly homicide.”
“That’s awful.”
King nodded. “They think whoever did it was either someone she knew and she was giving them a ride, or they snuck in the back of the van when the back hatch was closing. She had one of those newer vans, the kind with a button that slowly closes the back hatch. Based on what Detective Jones said, I’m betting on the latter, and I told her that.”
“Why?”
Clover arrived with King’s Cubano and he stared at the plate for a moment. “What’s the green stuff?” he asked, making a face.
“Kale. It’s good for you.” Clover leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Eat it.”
When she walked away, King said, “Want this?” to Megan. He pointed to the kale.
She laughed. “No, but it’s actually pretty tasty. And you’d better eat it or Clover will have you sleeping outside with our goats.”
Bobby raised his eyebrows in mock agreement. “Yeah, she’s decided I have an unhealthy lifestyle. I’m surprised she’s letting me eat the pork at all.”
Megan noticed that the sandwich did look slimmer than what Alvaro typically put together, and wondered whether Clover had made some adjustments once beyond the purview of Alvaro’s watchful eye.
“So back to the van, Bobby. Why do you think someone snuck in the back?”
“Because according to Jones, Thana was a pack rat. Her minivan was a portable art studio. She had canvases and containers of paint and boxes of finished and half-finished work in there.”
“A mess, or organized?”
“Organized. It’s a newer minivan. She had the third row folded into the floor and the back fairly packed. There were things on the seats but the aisles were clear.”
“Things on the front passenger seat too?”
Bobby nodded. “If she’d intentionally given someone a ride, it seems more likely that one of the seats would have been cleared off.”
Megan considered this. “So whoever killed her got into the van when she was loading it at the Center, waited until she pulled over along the road on that unnamed stretch, and strangled her?”
King was eating the last of his potato salad. The kale remained untouched. He said, “Sounds that way.”
But something about that scenario bugged Megan. “Why would Thana pull over along that stretch? And if someone was in the van for the express purpose of hurting, or even threatening Thana, wouldn’t they be taking a risk that she’d drive to somewhere public and they’d be discovered before they could act?”
“Good point.”
Clover, who had been cleaning off one of the copper-topped tables, glanced over at Megan and Bobby King. When she saw the kale, her expression went from pleasant to annoyed. She threw down the rag and joined them.
“Seriously? Eat the kale.”
“I don’t do kale.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll be skinnying down the things I ‘do.’”
“Damn it, Clover.” Like a child faced with an unpleasant chore, King took a tentative bite of the greens. Finding it not as awful as perhaps he’d thought, he followed it with several more. “Happy?”
Clover said, “No kale, no dessert.”
“And what might that be?”
“Alvaro’s Dulce de Leche.”
“Oh, you know that’s my favorite. A whole serving, or are you going to skimp out on me like you did with the pork?”
Clover smiled. “I’ll let Megan serve it.”
“I don’t know. You women tend to stick together.” But King finished the kale. He gave Clover a self-satisfied smile. “I did it.”
As she walked away with his plate, Clover leaned down toward Megan. “Who did it?”
Megan smiled. Echoes of her father and Sylvia. Thinking of Sylvia brought her back to the business at hand.
“So here’s what I’m thinking,” Megan said.
Bobby held up a hand. “First, dessert.”
“Help me and I’ll get it for you.” She paused, waiting for him to agree. He nodded and she said, “I’m thinking, what if the killer snuck in while at the Center. Thana opened the hatch, did what she needed to do in the back, and then hit the b
utton to close the rear door. Not suspecting that someone was watching her, she slides into the front seat and starts the engine. Meanwhile her killer slides in the back and hides behind the seat or the canvasses.”
King said, “Thana wouldn’t be expecting anyone to do something like that, so it would make sense that she wouldn’t notice.”
“Exactly.” Megan fingered the edge of a white napkin, visualizing the scene. “Then the killer steadily moves closer and wraps something around her neck.”
“At that point she’d drive off the road. You’ve been on Orchard Hill Road. It’s a mess of curves.
Megan waved her hands. “Ah, but what if the killer only places the object around her neck—doesn’t tighten it. He or she threatens Thana with a knife or a gun. Whatever. Makes her drive to the secluded spot.”
“Then kills her. Yes, I could see that.”
“Did they find the murder weapon, Bobby?”
The corners of King’s mouth turned down. “It was in the van. A woman’s scarf.”
“Did they identify whose scarf?”
“Jones didn’t say. She just said the scarf was still around Thana’s neck when they found her. And that it had been pulled from behind.”
“Can you get more information about that scarf, Bobby?”
“Are you worried it belongs to Sylvia?”
“It would make it more understandable that the police spent so much time questioning my father’s wife.”
Bobby appeared thoughtful. “It would. And come to think of it, they were pretty circumspect about the scarf. But honestly, Megan, I’m crossing more than a few lines even having this conversation with you. If they told me it was Sylvia’s scarf, I couldn’t tell you.”
Clover approached the table carrying a tray. From it, she placed a mug of coffee and two miniature Mason jars filled with a creamy caramel-like pudding topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings in front of King.
“Thought I’d save you a trip, Megan. Did you want one too?” Clover asked.
“You mean one’s not for me?” Megan grinned. These were Alvaro’s mini “tasting” desserts. Two barely added up to one full dessert—but neither she nor Clover would tell King that.
“Sorry. Bobby earned the second dessert. I had Alvaro give him extra kale.”
Bobby rolled his eyes while Clover walked away. “See what I put up with?”
“Could be worse.” But Megan’s mind was back on that scarf. “Did you learn anything else from Detective Jones? Anything you can share?”
King took a mouthful of his dessert and closed his eyes, savoring it. Finally, he said, “Just that several people had been in arguments with Thana the day before and the day of her death.”
“Yes. Including Sylvia.” Megan felt anxiety creeping over her. “They told us that.”
“Not just Sylvia.” King stared down at his Dulce de Leche. His lips pressed into a frown. “The former boyfriend. And several of the staff.” He looked up, and his expression was sad. “Including Maria Hernandez.”
Stunned, Megan stood up. The words were a knife to the gut. Alvaro’s wife. No wonder her chef seemed upset. No wonder Maria’s name had been on that paper.
“And every one of them is a person of interest?”
King nodded. “They’re looking at everyone who spent time at that Center the day Thana was killed and had a potential beef with the artist. The security cameras weren’t working yet, so it’s a painful process of interviewing people, checking and cross-checking facts. I don’t envy them the job. May explain why they’re being so difficult.”
“It sounds like the investigation could take a while.”
“Yes,” King said, now onto his second dessert. “The question is, will the killer break in the meantime?”
Eight
The call Megan had been expecting came the next morning.
“Ms. Sawyer? This is Detective Jones from the Dartville Police Department. My partner and I, Detective Lewis, would like to meet with you.”
Megan was tending to the chickens, but she’d stuck her cell phone in her pocket in case King called with more information. She stopped feeding the birds long enough to get the particulars of where and when she was to meet the police. They wanted to see her at their headquarters, not at the Center.
Although not even ten a.m., the day was already hot and humid. Megan was dripping with sweat, so she ran inside to take a quick shower. She changed into dress pants and a linen blouse before heading out to her truck. She felt grateful that Bibi hadn’t been at lunch with Denver and her the day of the murder. Otherwise, she’d be taking her grandmother in for questioning as well. Been there, done that, and it wasn’t a stress she needed to experience again.
The Dartville police headquarters wasn’t much bigger than Winsome’s. A brick one-story rectangle, its entryway was off the town’s main street. Geraniums in plastic green pots lined the walkway in a lame attempt to spruce up the place, but other than that, the building felt starkly institutional.
Within minutes of arriving, Detective Lewis met her in the waiting area. He led her through a Linoleum-floored hallway and into a small windowless conference room. Megan sat at a scarred wooden table, across from the officer. He ignored her, writing notes in a spiral bound book rather than engaging in any type of interaction. A few seconds later, Detective Jones arrived.
“Ms. Sawyer,” Detective Jones said. “Thank you for coming in today. When we asked for the roster of known guests at the Center the day of Ms. Moore’s death, imagine our surprise when we saw your name on it. Last we spoke, you didn’t bother to mention you’d been there that day.”
“You didn’t ask, and it didn’t seem relevant. Plus, I didn’t arrive until lunchtime.”
Detective Jones said, “To the knowledge of the staff. That doesn’t mean you weren’t there earlier.”
“I announced myself as soon as I arrived. I was looking for my father.”
Detective Lewis’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, let’s try for full disclosure today, shall we? Then we aren’t left to guess.” He slid on a pair of black-framed readers and opened his notebook. “Please tell us when you arrived, who you were with, and what you did while there. Include times.” He looked at Megan over the readers. “Be specific. You’re a lawyer; you know the drill.”
Megan went through the day in excruciating detail, including such banalities as when she used the restroom and what she ordered for lunch. The detectives did not appear amused.
“Yes, yes, we get it,” Detective Lewis waved a thick, hairy hand, his mouth pressed into a frown. He flipped through back through a few pages of notebook. “And Dr. Daniel Finn? According to the receptionist at his practice, he seems to have left the country.”
“He’s in Scotland attending to his injured sister.”
“Seems rather convenient,” Detective Jones said. “The two of you arrive the day of Thana Moore’s death and he leaves immediately after.”
“He couldn’t very well coordinate when his sister’s accident would impact his life, Detective.”
“He could plan when he wanted to leave the country.”
Irritated, Megan said, “Neither Dr. Finn nor I had anything to do with Thana’s death.”
“Nevertheless,” Detective Lewis said. “Can you give us a number where we can reach him? We’ve tried his cell to no avail.”
Megan pulled Denver’s sister’s number from her mobile phone. Detective Lewis jotted it down on a separate pad of paper and handed the pad to Detective Jones. Jones left the room.
“Let’s see if the doctor’s rendition of what happened corresponds with yours.” Lewis’s tone was flat, but his eyes bore into Megan’s.
Megan smiled. “By all means.”
They sat in silence for about ten minutes, Megan staring at her hands and Lewis scribbling in that damn notebook. Finally Detective Jones came
back. She gave Detective Lewis a curt nod before leaning against the back of a chair.
“Anything else you can think of from that day? Perhaps a conversation you may have had with your stepmother?” Jones was all smiles and kindness now. “Or maybe a discussion with your father?”
“I talked to Sylvia at lunch. I told you that. We discussed mundane things. My job, the Center’s decor. Otherwise I didn’t see her or talk to her all day.”
The officers looked at each other. “And your father?”
Knowing this may not help Sylvia, but needing to be truthful, Megan said, “He seemed genuinely not to know where his wife was. As I told you, I found him in the lobby talking with staff. Sylvia was late and he was worried. I’m sure the staff can corroborate.”
Officer Lewis nodded. He jotted something down in his notebook, closed the book, and pushed his chair away, as though they were finished.
Megan started to rise.
“One last question,” Detective Jones said. Her tone was studiously nonchalant, which gave Megan—familiar with courtroom techniques—pause.
Megan tilted her head. “Yes?”
“You have a history with the deceased?”
Bingo. The question Megan had been expecting. The fact they’d waited this long made her think they thought it far more important than it was.
“I would hardly call it ‘a history,’ Detective.”
Detective Lewis opened his notebook. Without looking up, he said, “You grew up together. Had some sort of falling out about sixteen years ago. Have not been close since.”
“Sounds like you have the whole story.”
Lewis removed the readers. He sighed. “Don’t be coy. You and I both know that revenge can be a prime motive for murder. And often an old grievance grows more malignant over time, not less so. At least in the mind of the aggrieved.”
“I wasn’t the aggrieved.”
“That’s not what Thana’s father told us.” Detective Jones crossed her arms over her chest. “He felt like maybe you’ve held a grudge since high school.”
“Then he told you wrong.” It was Megan’s turn to sigh. “Look, it was pretty simple. I was dating Ray Cruise.”
