by Sonia Parin
Eve grinned from ear to ear. Thank you, Florence, she mouthed and poured the detective a cup of coffee.
Taking a seat next to Mira, Florence said, “Ask away.”
The detective opened a folder and produced a photograph. “Do you recognize this image?”
They all leaned in and replied in unison. “Yes.”
“I can’t see,” Jill hollered.
Eve picked up her cell phone and gave Jill a proper view of the image.
“Oh,” Jill exclaimed. “Yes. I recognize that. It’s the ortolans dinner.”
“Where did you get this photo from?” Eve asked.
When the detective didn’t answer, Florence repeated Eve’s question.
The detective sighed and looked at Eve. “We found a thumb drive taped to the inside of one of your cameras.”
Eve made a fist and pumped the air. “I knew it. There just had to be something inside one of the cameras.”
Once Eve finished her victory dance, he asked, “Do you… any one of you, have any idea why someone would be interested in this image?”
“Tell him about our blackmail theory, Eve,” Jill urged.
Eve crossed her arms. “I’d actually like to know if you’ve questioned Joel Ellison. The moment he found out he’d been tricked into buying a generic box of cameras, he must have gone in search of the ones he wanted and he found them in the back of my car.”
“You’re actually accusing him?” the detective asked.
“Yes.” Eve gave a firm nod. “Yes, I am.”
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Ellison has been in his office all day. We can confirm this because there are security cameras in his store.” He slanted his gaze toward David. “We even know the precise time of your visit, David.”
Eve couldn’t bring herself to accept Joel Ellison had been taken off the list of suspects. “Did you check to see if there’s a rear exit? Or maybe he sent someone else out to steal my cameras.”
The detective gave a reluctant nod. “He’s in the clear.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him,” Eve said under her breath. She swung away and looked out the kitchen window. She hadn’t had a clear view of the intruder who’d sneaked into the back garden during the night, but she had the feeling he hadn’t been older than thirty-something and he’d been agile and had moved with speed. Joel Ellison had to be in his late sixties and his shoulders stooped. He might not have tried to break into the house, but she insisted he was involved. “You need to look for someone younger.”
The detective cleared his throat again. “You were going to tell me about your theory.”
Turning, Eve looked at the photo the detective had produced. “My friend Jill came up with the idea that someone in that photo might have had reason to hide his presence at the dinner.”
Ken McLain looked confused. “Why?”
“He might have been accompanied by someone other than his wife. Or…” Eve clicked her fingers. “This is a long-shot. They were eating ortolans.” She told him everything she knew about the dish and the birds. “I wouldn’t want to be photographed eating them. The people who know how I feel about the dish would have a field day with me.” Eve sat down and cupped her chin in her hands.
“Are you suggesting someone at that dinner party should not have been eating those birds?” the detective scoffed at the idea.
Eve gave him a raised eyebrow look. “Do you have any solid leads to follow, detective?” When he straightened and shook his head, she added, “Blackmail.”
“Okay, I’ll play along, but if someone was set up for blackmail, we’ll have to look into Mr. Bertie Buchanan’s financial activities.”
Florence shrugged. “I loved my Bertie but if he did something wrong, well then… You’ll have a hard time proving it because he’s dead.”
“But his accomplices are alive,” Eve said.
The detective hitched his hands on his hips. “Are you now suggesting there is a ring of blackmailers? And if you are, do you think they’re targeting more than one person?”
“Let’s play around with the idea. Stew Woodridge, Bertie Buchanan and Joel Ellison were friends. Stew and Bertie are both dead. Joel is left to carry on the business of blackmail but since provisions were not made…”
The detective’s eyebrows went up a notch. “Were they friends?”
“Let’s pretend they all were.”
Florence shifted. “Actually, yes. They’d known each other since kids.”
Eve gave the detective a brief smile. “Bertie and Stew Woodridge died suddenly and unexpectedly. It is quite possible they didn’t have a contingency plan.” She turned to Florence and mouthed an apology.
“Don’t worry honey. The idea of Bertie being involved in blackmail is actually intriguing. Apart from the dinner parties we held, he led a quiet life and enjoyed spending his evenings at home reading or watching old movies.”
Blackmail. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. “We’ve researched the guests but there’s only so much we can find online,” Eve explained. “Not everyone leaves a digital footprint.” As she talked, Eve brought out a mixing bowl and some ingredients.
“I’m sorry to have to do this, Mrs. Buchanan. We’ll need to look into your husband’s finances.”
Florence laughed. “I’m only too happy to assist in the investigation. Just think of the scandal. I’ll have tales to tell until the end of days.”
As Florence swept out of the kitchen, Mira asked, “What are you making, Eve?”
“Pancakes.” Eve shrugged. “Maybe crepes.” She checked the groceries she’d brought from the store and shrugged again. “I might actually make a pasta sauce.” She set to work on the pancake mix, starting with the flour. She cracked an egg and admired its bright orange yolk. Pouring in some milk, she began mixing and adding more milk as she went.
She glanced up briefly and saw everyone watching her.
“Eve, I’ve just had a lightbulb moment,” Mira said. “You could set up a YouTube channel and do cooking demonstrations. Recipe books tell you what to do, but nothing beats someone actually showing you how to do something. There’s a difference.”
Tilting her head, Eve smiled. “Jill, what do you think of the idea?”
“I love it. I’m already on it. By the time you get back, I’ll have it all set up for you.” Jill whooped. “We could keep it nice and simple and call it Cooking with Eve Lloyd at the Seabreeze Inn.”
“Or the Carousel,” Eve mused.
Florence swept back into the kitchen. “Here we are. Bank statements going back twenty years. I kept them all in separate folders, one for his personal account and the other for the business one. My Bertie lived off his inheritance and the antique store brought in some extra play money.”
“They’re the accounts you know of,” Jill said. “What if there are others?”
Mira put her arm around Florence. “I’m sure Florence is doing all she can to cooperate with the detective.”
“Of course, I am. I have nothing to hide. Although, if there is another account, I’d love to know about it.” Florence tossed her head back and laughed. “You can never have too much money.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Everything in this house is accounted for, including everything Bertie inherited. I have a separate itemized list for insurance purposes. The new purchases all went through the books. I’m sure you’ll find the books are all balanced.”
Frowning, Eve turned to the detective. “What exactly will you be looking for?”
“Inconsistencies in the accounts such as unexplained money deposits.”
“Blackmail money wouldn’t necessarily go through the books,” Jill mused.
Eve didn’t want to say it, but Yesterday’s Trash might have been used to launder blackmail money. It would be easy enough to do, she thought. Make a cash sale for $10 and list it as a $100 sale.
Eve set her pancake mix aside and began chopping onions. The detective was the first one to wipe his eyes.
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“What are you doing now, Eve?” Mira asked.
“I bought some onions and tomatoes so I thought we might enjoy some pasta, but now that I’ve made the pancake mix, I might actually make some cannelloni. I think I have some spinach in there as well.”
Florence went through the grocery bag and smacked her lips together. “Yes, you do. We’re in for a treat.”
The detective swallowed. “Is there anything else you wish to add?”
“Eve, did you tell him about the security camera at the grocery store?”
Eve ignored Jill’s question. She had the feeling the detective wouldn’t take her seriously. When she finished chopping all the onions, she peeled the tomatoes and chopped them into tiny cubes. Eve poured some olive oil into a large pot and added a couple of garlic cloves. Turning to Florence, she asked, “Do you happen to have a bay leaf tree?”
“I’m not much of a plant person. What does it look like?”
“I saw one by the garden statue,” David said. “I’ll go get you some.”
“Thanks, David.” Eve looked up at the detective but she couldn’t find the right words to tell him about the man she’d seen at the store. She added the onions to the pot and gave them a quick stir. Waiting until the onions were almost transparent, she then added the chopped tomatoes. When David returned with a handful of bay leaves, she selected the best ones, gave them a quick wash and then added them to the pot. Next came the seasoning.
For someone who didn’t know much about cooking, Florence had a kitchen stocked full of the right implements and basic seasoning. Eve added some salt and pepper to the pot along with some water. Since a good tomato sauce needed at least an hour to cook, she gave it another stir and set her mental clock to check it again in half an hour.
The detective rose to his feet and strode around the kitchen, clearly looking impatient.
“Do you want me to tell him about the security camera, Eve?” Jill asked.
Looking down at the cell phone, the detective frowned.
“Oh, Jill was there with me when we spotted a man buying a pry bar,” Eve explained.
Jill gave the detective a big grin. “I bear witness to Eve’s deeds and or misdeeds.”
When the detective brushed his hands across his face, David gave him a pat on the back. “It’s best not to fight it or try to understand how they think. We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”
Eve searched the cupboards for an oven dish large enough to accommodate a couple of rows of cannelloni, all the while listening to Jill’s explanation of their theory.
When Jill finished, Eve said, “Detective, it’s only a matter of requesting to see the security video footage. I’m sure the store manager will be happy to assist you.”
The detective exchanged a worried look with David. “How do you think this person is related to Jamie Woodridge’s death?” he asked.
Eve gave the pot a stir. “How should I know? I’m not a detective.”
The detective shifted. “But you’ve been playing around with a few ideas.”
Tasting the sauce, Eve said, “He might be part of the blackmailing ring and wants the business all to himself.”
“Just so we’re clear, you’re referring to the hypothetical blackmailing ring.”
“Yes, of course.” Eve shook her head. “What else would it be? We can discuss it further over dinner. There’ll be plenty to go around.”
The detective checked his watch. “Thank you for the invitation. However, I need to get back and start working on the financials and… organize a request to view the security footage.”
Eve smiled at him.
David showed him to the door. When he strode back into the kitchen he was laughing. “You have a way about you, Eve. You wore him out and now he’s bending to your will.”
Jill laughed. “Resistance is futile. I knew Eve would eventually get him to join our team.” In the next moment, Jill’s bubble of happiness burst.
Eve heard her growl softly. “What’s wrong?”
“Your guests have returned,” Jill grumbled. “They’ve extended their stay for a couple of days.”
“And how is that bad?”
“They’re waiting for you to return,” Jill bellowed.
“I’m going to make crepes now and process that information out loud. Do you want me to stay away so we can squeeze more money out of them or do you want me to hightail it back home and put you out of your misery? Will they actually still be alive when I return, or are you prepping them for me to solve the mystery of their sudden disappearance? I’m getting mixed signals.” Looking over her shoulder, Eve saw David writing something down.
“In case you’re wondering,” he said, “I’m taking notes of all your suspicions. We need to keep track of them.”
“He’s working the case,” Jill said. “He must be taking you seriously.”
Eve checked the time. She’d become accustomed to hearing from Jack, even when he couldn’t make it to the island to see her because he was deep in a case. She couldn’t remember ever asking him to give her space. Did he need it? “Has Jack been in touch with you?” Eve asked David.
“He’s giving you space.” David laughed. “I know that’s not what you asked, but I’m sure that’s what you meant. And, yes, he did ask me to keep you safe and out of trouble.”
Space? She’d only been thinking about it a second ago. “That’s such an imposition, especially when I expect you to keep Mira and Florence safe. You can’t be in all places at once.”
“You could make my life easier and stop taking off on a whim,” David suggested.
“Eve would never agree to that,” Jill said. “She’s far too strong-willed. Sometimes, even erratic, in a good way. She’s definitely independent.”
Not so much, Eve thought. Deciding to make Rock-Maine Island her home had been the best decision she’d ever made, followed by setting up the inn. She’d been keeping herself busy but the pace had shifted to include more leisurely, high quality moments. She particularly enjoyed the easy-going relationships she’d established with her new-found friends and had come to depend on them. Yes, she’d enjoyed establishing roots in the small island town and had every intention of continuing to nurture them.
“I’m living a life without regrets. I can’t ask for more.”
“That’s the spirit,” Florence said.
The remark surprised Eve but only because Florence had been very quiet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her going through one of the photo albums. She appeared to be lost in thought.
Sitting back, Florence sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Eve asked. “Are you concerned the police will find some dirt on Bertie?”
“No, I’ve just been wondering how I would have felt if I’d found out Bertie had been up to no good. I loved him unconditionally but if I’d known he had a darker side…” She gave a small shrug. “It might have changed my opinion about him and that would have been difficult for me because I’ve never been any good at soul searching. It would have been dreadful to love a man and then have to walk away from him because I couldn’t come to terms with his extracurricular activities.” Florence poured herself a drink. “What would you do if you found out Jack was on the take?”
“I’d give him a piece of my mind and then drop him like a hot potato.”
Mira smiled. “I don’t mean to take you literally, but I can’t help it. You don’t drop hot potatoes, Eve.” Mira turned to Florence. “I’ve always thought her hands were coated with asbestos.”
“But you know what I mean. It wouldn’t sit well with me.”
David tapped his pen on the table. “Detective Ken McLain has his work cut out for him. If Bertie Buchanan had been involved in blackmail, he would have kept it all off the books. Whereas someone being blackmailed might quite possibly have left a paper trail.”
“Are you saying he needs to draw up a list of possible victims and look at their finances?” Eve asked.
“Exactly.”
“But that could have been anyone attending the dinner parties.” The idea gave Eve enough to think about while she prepared a filling of spinach, ricotta cheese and some nutmeg and parmesan cheese. Working through a stack of crepes, she spooned in the mixture and rolled the crepes into neat cigar shapes. When she filled the tray, she spooned in a lavish amount of pasta sauce and added a generous sprinkling of more parmesan cheese on top.
Florence rose to her feet and stretched. “I’m thinking you’ll want to serve a robust red with that. When you’re ready, I’ll take you down to the cellar.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What’s the plan, Eve? You haven’t been able to convince Florence to hide out at the inn, and thank goodness for that, and the case remains unsolved. You can’t stay at Florence’s house forever.”
Jill had a point. “I’m thinking the killer knows he can’t get what he wants so Florence should be out of danger.”
“That’s just it,” Jill exclaimed. “The killer doesn’t have what he wants. The police have the evidence and we can only assume the killer assumes the police have found it.”
“Do we usually assume that much?”
“No, we usually have more to go on with. In fact, in previous cases, we’ve been spoiled and have had a pick of suspects.”
Eve rearranged the cushion behind her and sat back on the couch. Mira had gone to bed an hour earlier and Florence had followed soon after saying the combination of good food and wine had made her sleepy. David had, once again, stepped outside to make one of his phone calls.
“Eve?”
“Yes, still here. I’m thinking.” There were five people in the photo the detective had shown them. The picture had been taken right after the ortolans had been served, but before the diners had covered their faces with the table napkins. That photo had not appeared in Florence’s album. After a prolonged silence, Florence had managed to identify all the guests at the table, using her seating arrangements for the night as a guide. Luckily for them, Florence didn’t live in denial. Knowing how forgetful she could be after a few glasses of brandy or champagne, she had been in the habit of making detailed notes for the dinner parties.
