by Gina LaManna
“You do understand that I can’t just take your word for that, right?”
She didn’t look as if she understood, but she did start to look bored and sighed. “I don’t think I was in town.”
“Is there a way you could... I dunno—check and confirm that for me?”
“Sure,” she said. “Justin will know. But honestly, he’s gonna be pissed that you’re investigating me. He’ll have something to say about it.”
“I’m sure he will,” I said. “Did you talk to Maureen before she quit?”
“A little,” Lizzie said, “but not much.”
“Did she tell you any more details about why she was stepping down?”
“Something about the water being weird. I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening.”
Nobody really listened to anyone else, I was beginning to understand. They all just thought Maureen was drinking some funny water. Which went to show their listening and comprehension skills.
“Right,” I said. “You didn’t think it was strange?”
“I told you—I don’t care. I’m getting paid. That’s what’s important to me.”
I decided to test Lizzie. And Maureen. “You do know some of your salary went to pay Maureen, right?”
“It did?!” Lizzie’s eyes flashed. “You’re pulling my leg. Maureen didn’t get paid. It was in the contract that if we ended our obligation early, we wouldn’t get a dime. I know that for a fact because Justin told me I couldn’t get squirrely and leave mid-show again.”
“What are you doing?” Justin raised his hands and gave them a spirited little shake as he studied me quizzing Lizzie.
The bags lay forgotten at my feet. “We’re chatting.”
“I didn’t pay you to chat,” Justin said. “Lizzie needs to rest her vocal cords. She has to judge a very important competition tomorrow.”
“You didn’t pay me at all,” I said. “I’m not a bellhop.”
“This twat went undercover as a bellhop,” Lizzie explained. “She’s grilling me about that poor woman’s murder.”
Justin looked livid. He pulled out a keycard and, once again, shoved it into the slot. This time, it gave a nice little click and turned a pleasant green. He glared at me over his shoulder.
“Well? Move our bags then,” he said. “I didn’t pay you to stand there.”
“I didn’t...” Confused, I looked to Lizzie then him. “You do know I’m not a bellhop, right?”
“I paid you twenty bucks,” he repeated. “Move our bags.”
“I gave the money back.”
Lizzie stalked into the room. Justin and I stared at one another.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I’ll help you. No problem.”
“It’s fine.” Justin flicked his wrist with great flourish. “Go scam someone else.”
“I have a badge—”
The door shut in my face. I shuffled back to the elevator and let myself down to the first floor. On the way, I replayed my conversation with Lizzie in my head and deduced that it hadn’t been a total waste of time.
I’d learned that she was the nicest person ever (opinion), that she wasn’t afraid of murder (supposedly), and that there was probably a clause in the contract about payments (almost fact) that if a judge didn’t complete their obligations, then they wouldn’t be paid. That confirmed what Stuart had told me as well.
I was still wondering if Maureen had been paid off, and if so, by who, when I reached the lobby and found it empty save for an angry-looking receptionist. I paused, scanned the bar, the water fountain, and of course the vending machines. Meg was nowhere to be found.
“You’re looking for your crazy friend?” the receptionist scowled. “She’s out front. Technically banned from the premises, but I won’t call the cops if you keep her away from here.”
“Deal.”
Once outside, I found Meg perched against a cement pole with a No Smoking sign attached to it.
“Kicked out?” I asked.
“Again,” Meg said. “It’s like these people don’t appreciate a good dramatization of the truth.”
“Shame,” I said. “Have you considered trying to not pretend you’re someone else?”
“Not really,” Meg said. “I’m sort of attached to Gloria—one of my seven alter egos. In my mind, she’s some obscure European princess.”
“Naturally.”
“Speaking of Europeans,” Meg said, “there’s your other judge.”
I looked up and found Filip exiting the back of a black Range Rover.
“Don’t bother him,” I said. “Not here. You’re already banned.”
“Exactly, so I’ve got nothing to lose.”
“They could call the police,” I said as Meg took a step away from the post.
“I am the police.”
“You were,” I said. “You were the police until you got banned from that, too.”
“It’s a hobby of mine,” Meg said, rubbing her hands together. “I excel at getting banned from places.”
Filip had crossed the parking lot and was so distracted by something on his phone that he hadn’t noticed us. When he finally looked up, it was far too late. Meg was in his face—towering over him.
“Hey, bud,” she said. “What’s up?”
Filip looked appropriately nervous. “What’s up?”
“I asked you first,” Meg said. “What’s up?”
“What do you mean, what’s up?”
Meg snarled a sigh. “Forget the formalities. Spill, Filip. Why didn’t you tell me the news about Britta when we talked? We’re investigating a murder here. You were supposed to be honest with us about anything out of the ordinary.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” Filip said. “Now, if you’ll just let me go to my room...”
“I’ll let you go to your room alright,” Meg said. “But I’m not done with you. What happened to you yesterday? Who locked you in a cake?”
I looked anxiously at the front desk receptionist who appeared to be tuning in to this episode of The Meg Show from behind the safety of the windows.
“Keep it down!” Filip threw both hands up. “I’m telling the truth. I didn’t know about Britta, okay? That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know about her.”
Meg frowned. “Then who pulled the strings to get her into the competition?”
“Someone dropped out because they were ill,” Filip said. “We needed a last-minute replacement.”
“And how’d you choose Britta?” Meg persisted. “You had plenty of candidates who had gone through the preliminaries.”
“Hunter,” Filip said. “He pulled whatever strings that got Britta late entry into the competition.”
“Why would he do that for her?” I asked. “Do they know each other?”
“I don’t know.” Filip shrugged. “I’m not exactly in the loop. I didn’t find out about Britta until the morning of the semi-finals.”
“Maybe Britta blackmailed him,” Meg said. “She seems like she has a way of getting what she wants.”
“And Britta’s got the ability to find dirt on just about anyone,” I said. “She’s talented. I’ll give her that. I wonder if it’s possible Britta did blackmail Hunter?”
“It’s possible,” Filip agreed. “But if you ask me, it could be something else entirely. The other day, I overheard Hunter on the phone as he was speaking with a contestant. Suffice it to say their conversation was a bit inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate how?” I asked.
Fillip looked flustered. “You know, inappropriate. A bit more friendly than a judge should be with a competitor.”
“Are you trying to say Hunter was dating, or is dating, a baker?” Meg gasped. “Now, that’s drama.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “He and Susie broke up because of friction around the bake-off rules. Neither of them wanted to put their status as contestant and judge on the line. I don’t see Hunter taking that sort of risk for anyone.”
“Well, m
aybe he met someone who made it worth it,” Filip said. “That’s my guess after hearing that phone call.”
“It’s possible,” Meg said. “You can’t predict when the love stick is gonna hit you. Sometimes—whack!—it just smacks you over the head, and you’re powerless to do anything about it.”
“Smack!” Filip added weakly. “Just like that.”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with the murder,” I said. “Unless Amelia found out that a judge was having a relationship with a contestant, which is against the rules. She could have exposed them.”
“Well, there’s one way to find out if Hunter’s dating someone,” Meg said. “If he can’t keep his hands off her, then they’ll want to see one another. How do you feel about a stakeout, Lace?”
“I should probably stop home first and check on things.”
“I’ve got cookies,” Meg said. “How about that?”
My stomach growled. It was an exciting moment to realize Meg’s offer sounded appealing. Lacey Luzzi was back. “Deal.”
“Good,” Meg said, throwing her arm around me. “That means you aren’t going to die from poison, chickadee. Congratulations. Now, let’s catch ourselves a murderer.”
Chapter 23
On the way to Britta’s apartment, I called Anthony for one of my promised check-ins.
“So, what’s this about the finals being cancelled?” he asked lightly. “Weren’t you going to keep me posted about important updates?”
“This is me keeping you posted,” I said. Then, “If you heard about the little finals debacle already, then technically you’re already posted.”
“You were supposed to check in with me hourly.”
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s been a whirlwind. Anyway, how’s Bella?”
“She’s snoozing. Your grandmother is sitting here waiting for her to wake up.”
“Nora didn’t—”
“She did try to wake her up from her nap early. That’s why she’s currently handcuffed to the couch.”
“Anthony!”
“I’m joking,” he said, then gave an awkward cough. “Mostly joking.”
“You know what, I don’t even want to know,” I said. “It sounds like you’ve got things handled there, and I’ve got things handled here. I’m just letting you know that we’re on the way to Britta Facelli’s apartment.”
“She won’t talk to you,” Anthony said. “She knows her rights inside and out—along with every loophole in the court system.”
“So I’ve heard. But we’re not planning to talk to her. We’re just going to watch her to find out what’s going on.”
“What do you think is going on?”
“Well, Hunter pulled some strings to guarantee Britta late entry into the competition after another woman dropped out sick. Hunter wouldn’t have had a whole lot of incentive to do that unless she was blackmailing him somehow.”
“What about the contestant?” Anthony asked. “Do you think Hunter dating a contestant had anything to do with that?”
“Unless he was dating Britta...” I paused, then studied Anthony. “Unless he was dating Britta. That’s what we need to find out on this stakeout. We need to see if there’s a connection of any sort between Britta and Hunter.”
“Well, good luck with that.”
“Even if we don’t find the answer,” I continued, “we’ll be showing Britta that we’re onto her by plunking ourselves down outside of her apartment. Who knows? Maybe it’ll cause her to get nervous and do something rash.”
“Maybe.”
“We need to do something, and I’m out of other options,” I said. “We can’t let this case drag out any longer.”
“Be careful,” he said. “Britta’s smart. If she is behind this, then who knows what she has up her sleeve.”
“We’ll be careful,” I said. “But we might be home a little late tonight—I don’t know how long this stakeout will last. Probably until our butts go numb.”
“That’s fine. Your grandmother has offered to stay over to help with bath and bedtime.”
“You know that you’ll have to release her from her restraints in order for that to happen?”
“I know.” Anthony didn’t sound like he was joking.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” I said. “I love you.”
As I hung up the call, I also slid the car into a parking space outside of Britta’s Minneapolis residence. She lived in a neat apartment complex in the heart of the Uptown nightlife. Restaurants and stores were a dime a dozen around here, along with parking meters.
“Well, this just isn’t going to work as well as I thought.” I rested my hands on the steering wheel and stared at the tower of parking signs next to the meter. “How are we supposed to intimidate Britta if we’re at a parking meter a block away?”
“You can probably expense the parking meter if you’re worried about cash,” Meg said. “Can you also expense the parking ticket I got last week?”
“What were you doing to get a parking ticket?”
“That’s not a piece of information you need to know,” Meg said. “But I do see your point about intimidating Britta being a bit challenging. However, in a positive twist of events, there’s a Taco Bell across the street.”
“Which is relevant how?”
“Because it’s delicious.”
My stomach growled again. I looked at Meg. She looked back at me.
“We deserve a break,” she said. “Even private investigators get a lunch hour.”
“We can probably see the front doors from a booth.”
“We can see the front doors better from a booth than from this stupid meter,” Meg said. “And if anything, we’ll be more discreet.”
“We weren’t trying to be discreet,” I said. “We were trying to intimidate Britta into doing something rash.”
“We can pivot,” Meg said. “Isn’t that one of those corporate words that big bosses like to use? Let’s pivot right on over to Taco Bell. It’s a good thing I’m not built to be discreet.”
We took Meg’s idea and ran with it. We pivoted over to Taco Bell, which probably wasn’t the safest thing to put into my stomach immediately after I’d been poisoned, but it was a start.
We ordered, took our seats at a booth, and settled in to watch the doors to the apartments across the street. Before I knew it, I was finished eating.
“I’m impressed,” Meg said, surveying the wrappers on the table. “Ninety-three packets of hot sauce on an empty stomach?”
“It wasn’t ninety-three,” I said, looking at the carcasses of Taco Bell hot sauce. “You’re rounding up.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate,” Meg said. “In fact—”
“Hold that thought!” I raised up a hand for Meg to stop. “Look who it is.”
“Who?”
I pointed across the street at a familiar figure approaching the lobby. “Let’s just say, I think Taco Bell was a brilliant plan. We already have something to show for it.”
“Yeah. We have ninety-three packets of hot sauce to show for it.” Meg followed my pointed finger across the street and gave a low whistle. “And one sketchy judge.”
We fell silent, squinting as we watched Hunter park a flashy red car in an illegal parking slot. He slid out casually, sauntering toward the building without a backward glance.
“What are the chances that Hunter is here visiting someone that’s not Britta?” Meg asked. Before the words had come out of her mouth, however, the very person in question flounced into view. “Never mind, there’s our girl. Do you think Britta’s blackmailing him again? Before the finals, trying to cement a win?”
“Either that or...” I watched as Britta leaned in toward Hunter. “That.”
“Wow,” Meg said in agreement. “They’re smooching. And that is not one of them European-type friendly kisses on the cheek. There’s tongue there.”
“I guess Filip wasn’t wrong when he thought he overheard Hunter on the phone with a contes
tant,” I said. “Turns out Hunter is dating a contestant.”
“I don’t know anything about dating, but they sure are making out.”
As we watched, Britta tugged Hunter inside the automatic doors by the tie.
“They must be in love,” I said. “Hunter dumped Susie because he was too afraid their relationship would spoil his prospects to become judge of the competition. I don’t see him throwing away his judge title for something casual.”
“Susie must be upset,” Meg said. “That would be hard to watch her ex-boyfriend date someone she’s competing against.”
“We’re not totally sure who dumped who between Hunter and Susie,” I said. “We’ve heard conflicting stories.”
“Still. Ouch,” Meg said. “Not that it has anything to do with Amelia’s death.”
“Or maybe it does.” An idea percolated in the back of my brain. “Suppose Susie was keeping tabs on Hunter because she wasn’t over him. If she found out he was dating Britta, she might have told Amelia.”
“Makes sense,” Meg said. “That’s what best friends do.”
I nodded. “Then Amelia would’ve had dirt on Hunter—and she might have tried to use it to get him kicked off the judge’s panel. If she threatened to expose his relationship with Britta, Hunter’s status would be in jeopardy.”
“That would give Hunter a big motive to want Amelia dead,” Meg agreed. “And Amelia had a motive to expose him. I mean, there’s a good chance Hunter’s going to pick his girlfriend’s dessert to win, right?”
“One problem,” I said, taking a sip of my Diet Coke and returning my glance out the window. “Actually, two problems. First, if Susie knew—they’d kill her, too. And second, if your theory is correct, that would mean Hunter and Britta were dating before the competition. Amelia was killed before Britta had gained her entrance. So, technically, at that time, Hunter wasn’t doing anything wrong. Britta wasn’t a contestant at that point.”
We both lapsed into silence as we considered.
“Maybe that’s not entirely true,” Meg said. “Maybe behind the scenes, Hunter was already pulling strings to get Britta in. You know, I have to wonder if that other woman who dropped out of the bake-off really came down with the flu at all, or if she was paid off, too.”
