Puzzling Ink

by Becky Clark

  Quinn tried to convince herself the note didn’t mean anything; it was completely unimportant and irrelevant to everything that had happened. But she couldn’t do it. Who would send a message like that? Her concerns that one of Jake’s ex-employees had a grudge against him had mushroomed—she winced at the metaphor—into full-fledged blackmail. Was that possible? Had Jake cut corners here at the diner? Maybe the rumors Kelli mentioned didn’t involve Emmett at all. Maybe Jake was bribing the health inspector.

  Her eyes cut to the pile of employee files still on Jake’s desk, aligned with precision at the corner of the desk. She heard some noise in the restaurant and went to check it out, almost crashing into the giggling couple standing in front of her.

  “Can we pay?” The man opened his wallet, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Yeah…five bucks?” Quinn stuffed the note in her pocket.

  He placed a five-dollar bill in her palm. “Hm. Thought it would be more.” His voice sounded much more pleasant. The woman nudged him with her elbow and he dropped a single on top of the five.

  Another nudge netted Quinn another single, but she was barely paying attention. “Thanks. See you soon,” she said automatically. She stuffed the bills into her apron and turned back to the office. Before the door chime signaled their departure, Quinn was organizing the employee files by termination date.

  Logic would dictate that the more recently someone was fired, the more likely they’d be angry enough to send that note to Jake. She couldn’t discount anyone, she reasoned, because people did carry grudges. After all, Rico still hadn’t forgiven that mean Molly Campbell who started the rumor about his man-perm.

  Tapping a pen against her cheek, she formulated a reason to call them. She didn’t want to lie, but she couldn’t come right out and ask if they were blackmailing her boss. She needed to find an opening gambit that painted the truth with the most delicate brush. Tap, tap, tap. Finally satisfied, she picked up the file on top.

  Rita Calhoun. This must be Rico’s favorite waitress. An uncomfortable twinge of jealousy made her study the paperwork in the file more closely. Why was she his favorite? There was nothing specific to her job performance, just the original application she had filled out and some copies of IRS and OSHA forms with her signature.

  Quinn picked up the desk phone.

  A woman answered on the third ring.

  “Is this Rita Calhoun?”

  “It is.”

  “My name is Quinn and I’m thinking about a job at the Chestnut Diner.” Not a lie. I’m thinking about my job constantly. At this very moment, in fact. “I understand you used to work for Jake Szabo? Can you tell me about him?”

  “Ah, the Chestnut Diner. Funny, I just ran into Jake last week. Still handsome as ever. That man doesn’t seem to age.” She paused. “How bad do you really need a job?”

  “Pretty bad.”

  “I suppose you could do worse.”

  “I don’t mind waitressing, but I’d rather do it for a good guy.”

  “Oh, Jake’s a good guy, but he’s kinda persnickety. And he was always testing me on some stupid diner language. I finally quit—or maybe he fired me, I can’t remember. But I kept forgetting to check the chemicals in the dishwasher and he totally lost it.”

  “Lost it?”

  “Well, he didn’t scream or anything, but he glared real loud. And then he told me I had to wash all the dishes in the diner by hand.”

  “That seems a bit harsh,” Quinn said.

  Rita laughed lightly and Quinn got an inkling of why Rico might have been smitten with her. “It definitely wasn’t the first time I forgot. I would have screamed and yelled at me. I mean, I’d worked there long enough to remember, but I just couldn’t. Well, I could have, but I chose not to. Truth be told, I didn’t really care much about that job. He should have fired me long before that. If you really need a job and you don’t mind waitressing, then I say go for it. Learn to use the dishwasher and that stupid lingo and you’ll be fine. He’s a good boss. Fair-minded. Persnickety, yes, but fair. You could do worse, especially in Chestnut Station. Way worse.” She paused. “Plus, he’s sure easy on the eyes.”

  Quinn blushed. She did not want to think about Jake that way. “Where do you work now?”

  “Insurance company in Denver, for a guy who is not at all easy on the eyes.”

  “Thanks for talking to me, Rita.”

  “Good luck with the job.”

  “Thanks.” I’ll need it.

  Between dealing with people who wanted dinner, Quinn called five more ex-employees, waitresses, and weekend cooks. Some of them she had called before when she was looking for help for the diner. Only one mentioned that getting two calls about the Chestnut Diner after all this time was weird. They all relayed some variation of what Rita had told her, that Jake had his quirks but was a good, fair boss. Nobody else mentioned his looks, though.

  Quinn delivered a salad to a woman, but was called back immediately.

  “Is this ranch dressing?”

  Quinn glanced down. “Yes, it is.”

  “I ordered blue cheese.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Quinn grabbed the bowl from her hand, but the woman didn’t let go.

  “On my burger.”

  “You ordered a burger? That’s not on the menu tonight.” Quinn waved vaguely at the dry-erase sandwich board that still had yesterday’s menu on it.

  “You let me order it.”

  Truth be told, Quinn didn’t even remember taking their order, yet they all had sodas in front of them. She glanced around the restaurant. She didn’t remember any of these people, but many sat with food and drink in front of them.

  I am losing my mind, she thought.

  She turned her attention back to the woman and her salad. “I don’t—I can’t—what do you—” Quinn heard the door chime behind her but continued playing tug-of-war with the bowl.

  “Wanda, just eat the salad,” the man at her table said. “You don’t need a burger anyway.” He guffawed.

  “Aw, mister. That ain’t nice.” Loma had stepped to the table and was face-to-face with him. “You should apologize.”

  The two of them had a stare-down, which Loma won. Not only didn’t she blink, she didn’t blink in a very aggressive manner.

  Quinn snapped out of her daze. “If you don’t want the salad, I’m sure I can find—”

  “Don’t bother.” The man pushed his way past Loma. Wanda followed, without looking at anyone.

  Quinn watched them leave, then hissed at Loma. “I need this job!” Quinn started clearing the table. Loma touched her on the elbow, but Quinn roughly shook her off. “You don’t know what I’ve been up against here, keeping this place running, doing everything, cash register not working, people mad at me. I don’t know how many more bad meals I can even make!” Quinn’s voice rose into the dog whistle range.

  Loma stared at her for a moment, then took a firm grip on her upper arm and steered her into the kitchen. She took the dishes from Quinn’s hands, placed them in the sink, then gently pushed her toward the stool. “Sit.”

  Quinn sat, trying to control the dull roar that echoed in her head. She clamped both hands over her chest, sure her heart was going to burst right out.

  Loma returned and held Quinn’s face in her hands. “I told everyone that there was a kitchen emergency and sent them all home—”

  “You did what? You can’t—”

  “I can and I did. I turned the Closed sign and locked the door too.” Quinn started to protest and hop down from the stool, but Loma held her in place. “You, my dear, are coming apart at the seams. And I know why.”

  Loma held up several pieces of paper. The one on top had colored letters cut from a magazine.

  Chapter 12

  Quinn gasped. “Where did you get that?”

  “Shouldn’t your question be,
What is that?” Loma crossed her arms, boosting both boobs.

  Quinn stared at her. Was Loma blackmailing Jake? Am I in danger here? Is that why she sent everyone home and closed the diner? So she could murder me? “Don’t kill me…please.”

  “Kill you? Girl, what are you on about?”

  “You’re—you’re not here to kill me?”

  “What in the world is going on in that head of yours?” Loma uncrossed her arms, letting her boobs drop, and leaned against the sink. “Do you really think I’m that badass that I could kill someone?” She picked up a stainless steel bowl and looked at her reflection. She fluffed her hair. “I admit, I’m pretty fierce, but more in the colloquial sense than the literal.”

  “Then why are you here? And why did you send everyone out of the diner?”

  “I sent everyone away before you had some kind of meltdown and stabbed someone with a salad fork.”

  “I wasn’t going to—”

  “I’ve heard what’s been going on here. But we have bigger fish to fry. I came here to show you this. I thought we should talk.” She held the papers out to Quinn, who reluctantly took them from her.

  Quinn read the page with the cutout letters first. “To keep me quiet, you need to call this number for further instructions.” She looked up at Loma for answers to her unspoken questions. Loma waved impatiently at the other pages.

  The next page was a fax on an office-supply store letterhead with Jake’s name scrawled across it. People still faxed?

  “Call the number on the next page and read the statement into the phone.” She shuffled to the next page. The phone number didn’t mean anything to her. She scanned the statement.

  “Read it out loud. I want to hear it again.”

  Quinn read, “It is hereby acknowledged and affirmed that I, Jake Szabo, did knowingly and purposely hog the spotlight at every opportunity over the course of my career. I, Jake Szabo, consistently put my needs above the needs of the restaurants, as well as above the needs of all the employees and investors. I, Jake Szabo, relegated associates and teammates to insignificant roles, the likes of which proved to be insurmountable for many of them. And I, Jake Szabo, never allowed anyone in my professional orbit to shine, an unforgivable sin in any collaboration. Of these and many other transgressions, I, Jake Szabo, am guilty as charged.”

  “Did you get these from Emmett?” Quinn waved the pages in the air.

  “So, you already know about Emmett and Jake.”

  Quinn didn’t say anything, not entirely sure what she knew anymore.

  “Remember when I rushed out of here when you told me Jake had been arrested?” Quinn nodded. “I had to go see for myself if my hunch was right, and it was. Jake snuck in and stayed at my guesthouse that night Emmett was murdered. When I finally went in there, I found these and his phone. They must have fallen out of his pocket.”

  “Or he stashed them there,” Quinn said. “But what does it all mean?”

  “This is a list of stuff Jake did to Emmett.”

  “Is it true?”

  Loma shrugged.

  “Emmett Dubois was blackmailing Jake.” Quinn couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “We need to take the notes to Rico.”

  “No. We need to talk to Jake.”

  * * * *

  Quinn shooed Jethro from the diner. He plodded down the street while she locked the door, pivoting back twice to check the lock while Loma marched ahead of her. Quinn wasn’t sure if she wanted Rico to be there or not. Donnie said Rico wasn’t in, but was expected back in the next twenty minutes or so.

  At the station, she tried to introduce Loma to Donnie but he already knew who she was. Donnie led them to the basement. As they passed Chief Chestnut’s office, she saw him talking on the phone, his back to the door.

  The minute Donnie went back upstairs, Quinn got right to the point with Jake. “Was Emmett Dubois blackmailing you?”

  When Jake replied, “Yes” with a calm voice, Quinn got flustered. She had expected him to hem and haw or even deny it, so this was a completely unexpected turn of events.

  Quinn couldn’t formulate another question from the many that tripped through her brain. Luckily, Loma was there.

  “Did you go to the police? What did they say? Who else knows about this? Why didn’t you tell me? What does all this mean?” She thrust the pages through the bars of the cell.

  Jake glanced at them before handing them back to Loma.

  “You must have dropped them at the guesthouse that night.” Loma lowered her voice. “I also found your phone.”

  “It’s all true, everything he wanted me to say in that statement,” Jake said. “None of it is a secret. I thought if I played along, maybe he’d get bored or at least get what he needed from me. It’s just silly vindictiveness. Inconsequential, completely harmless.”

  “Then why didn’t you mention it to me?” Loma said.

  “Or me?” Quinn glared at him.

  “Because it was inconsequential and completely harmless.” Jake sighed.

  “Did you tell Rico?” Quinn asked.

  “No.”

  “Even after Emmett was killed?”

  “Listen, when I got the first note I thought maybe it was a dissatisfied customer. Remember that guy who wanted shoes on his BLT, but I forgot to make it a to-go order? And that omelet I screwed up last week? Stuff happens and people want to blow off steam. Besides, like I said, there hadn’t been any threat or demand. Whoever it was hadn’t asked for anything. There was nothing to tell the police.”

  Quinn started to interrupt, but he continued.

  “And I didn’t want bad publicity for the diner. This is a small town. I need every customer I get.”

  A pang of guilt shot through Quinn but she tamped it down. Focus. “You said the first note. Have there been more than this?”

  Jake sat on the edge of his bed, hands clasped together between his knees. “Only one more.”

  “Actually…” Quinn stretched out the word. “I just found another note at the diner. Well, Jethro found it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Loma put her hands on her hips.

  “Because I thought you were going to murder me.”

  “I still might.”

  Jake interrupted. “What did it say?”

  Quinn pulled it from her pocket and unfolded it. She felt a stab of remorse that she didn’t treat it as evidence, but, she reasoned, she didn’t realize it was evidence until after she picked it up.

  Loma lunged for it but Quinn held it out of her reach. “Fingerprints.”

  Loma harrumphed.

  “I know what you did, Jake.”

  His head snapped up. “What did I do?”

  “No, that’s what this note says.” The three of them contemplated for a bit. Then Quinn said to Jake, “You said you got another note? What did it say?”

  “It told me to deliver two hundred dollars to a certain location.”

  “Where?” Loma asked.

  “That’s the thing,” Jake said. “There were a million texts that came through, each one sending me all over creation. It was like a terrible scavenger hunt.”

  “When did you do this?” Loma asked.

  “The night of Emmett’s murder.” Jake sounded despondent.

  “No, that’s great! We’ll just show Rico your phone with all the texts. It’ll prove you were nowhere around when Emmett died,” Loma said.

  “But Jake still made those mushrooms for Emmett,” Quinn pointed out. “And someone told the police they saw him carry the mushrooms into the governor’s mansion before the fundraiser.”

  “Plus, the envelope I picked up at the office store also had a burner phone in it that I was told to leave with the money in the final location.”

  “Jake, why didn’t you go to the police when it first happened?” Loma moa
ned.

  “I know. But it was only two hundred bucks. If he was that hard up…” Jake sighed. “In retrospect, of course things are more clear, but it just seemed like if Emmett was still carrying that grudge and hated me so much, maybe all he needed was to hear that confession from me. We never really had closure. I figured if that’s how he wanted to get closure, then what’s the harm?”

  Quinn was dubious. Nobody went to that much trouble just to hear some bogus ten-year-old confession.

  “I think you should tell Rico about it now, Jake,” Loma said.

  “I don’t know.” Jake looked at Quinn. “What do you think?”

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” It was advice Quinn had heard from her dad numerous times over the years, whenever she began a spiral of catastrophizing. Her problems never involved such high stakes or dire circumstances, however.

  “But you didn’t tell me what you think.”

  “What I think doesn’t really matter right now,” Quinn told him. “It only matters what Rico thinks.” She didn’t verbalize what was really troubling her. It was clear Jake stashed his phone and those notes at Loma’s guesthouse, since he didn’t ask where Loma had gotten them. He knew both were incriminating, despite what he’d just told them. Emmett was blackmailing Jake and Jake knew it. Jake delivered the money—or said he did, anyway—after Emmett already ate the poisoned mushrooms. Emmett died in the diner when Jake claimed to be on his terrible scavenger hunt. But that last note that Jethro found? I know what you did, Jake didn’t sound like it was from Emmett. Of course, Emmett would know what Jake had done, whether it was referring to past transgressions or the current ransom demands.

  It sounded to Quinn like Jake had another blackmailer. But was it one who knew that Jake did something with the mushrooms, or was it something else?

  “You need to tell Rico.” Loma went right up to the bars on the cell so Jake could see how serious she was.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. This noose is tight enough as it is.”