Puzzling Ink

by Becky Clark

  “It gets you off the hook. It shows you weren’t even around when Emmett died.”

  “We’ve been over this, Loma,” he said. “Emmett was poisoned at the governor’s fundraiser. His death came later.”

  Loma and Jake bickered back and forth about the ramifications of telling Rico that Emmett had been blackmailing Jake.

  Quinn paid no attention, trying to decide whether the conversation with Rico should be to tell him that Jake had a blackmailer, or that Jake might have two blackmailers. And would he even listen after their little tiff about her online review? Of course, he’d listen. Rico was a professional.

  She ran through how she’d expect the conversation to go, but no matter which role she took or which direction the conversation went, it always ended with Rico telling her to bring him solutions, not problems. That was the aphorism he’d heard a zillion times from his dad growing up. Maybe that was why he hadn’t really conferred with her on this case, despite promising her he would. Maybe he didn’t want to simply bring problems to her. Or maybe, Quinn considered, maybe he just didn’t trust me.

  “Quinn! Are you listening?” Jake bellowed at her.

  She snapped to attention. “What?”

  “Oh, hush, Jacob Joseph Szabo. There’s no need to yell at her,” Loma said, flinging an arm around Quinn’s shoulder. “She wasn’t the one who closed the diner. It was me.” Loma stage-whispered in her ear. “He thinks you’re slacking off, shirking your diner duties, eating bonbons all day.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I said nothing of the kind! Quinn, don’t believe a word she says. I simply asked—very politely and reasonably, I might add—who was handling the diner right now.”

  “And I told you, nobody is. Because Quinn and I just found out a new twist to your case and we thought it was more important to talk to you and Rico about it than to serve salads to cranky women.” Loma clasped hands with Quinn and turned toward the staircase. “So on that note, we will extend a hearty farewell, whilst we go conversate with Rico.” She ushered Quinn ahead of her, then added, “And you can apologize to Quinn later. She doesn’t need your grief on top of everything else. Shame on you.”

  Quinn was halfway up the stairs, waiting for Loma. “He doesn’t have to—”

  “Yes, he does. And he would have if I hadn’t hustled you out of there.” Loma was grinning at her. “But let’s make him stew about it for a bit. It shouldn’t even cross his mind to holler at you for closing the diner every so often. You’re only human, right?”

  “I guess.”

  Loma laughed. “You guess you’re human?”

  “Some days I’m not so sure.”

  Rico was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. “Hello, ladies.”

  “Are we glad to see you,” Loma said, brushing past him.

  Rico raised his eyebrows at Quinn, who just shrugged.

  “Let’s get the big man involved in this.” Loma raised her hand to knock on Chief Chestnut’s door.

  Rico grabbed her wrist and walked her out to the center area. “Involved in what?”

  “The big twist in Jake’s case.”

  “How ’bout you run it by me first?” Rico glanced at his desk next to Donnie’s. Donnie sat, watching the interaction. Rico crossed the room and opened the door to the conference room. He motioned for the two women to sit down.

  Loma began talking before she took a seat. She told Rico all about the blackmail notes Jake had received and what Jake had done about them. She finished with a triumphant, “And that shows you Jake didn’t kill Emmett.”

  Rico and Quinn hadn’t said a word the entire time, but now he looked at her with the tiniest hint of a raised eyebrow. Quinn knew that meant he wanted her opinion. Instead, she looked at her lap.

  Rico took a moment to formulate his thoughts. “All it shows me is that Jake was being blackmailed by Emmett Dubois and Emmett Dubois winds up dead.”

  “But Emmett wasn’t asking for anything. He just wanted Jake’s confession.”

  “I thought you told me Jake delivered two hundred dollars cash in response to a blackmail note.”

  “But what’s two hundred bucks? It’s nothing. That ain’t serious ransom. That’s just…just…”

  “A token,” Quinn finished for Loma.

  “Right on.” Loma flashed Quinn a double thumbs-up. “And that statement Jake was supposed to read. He said every word was absolutely true.”

  Impatience sounded in Rico’s voice. “Look. Here are the facts you just brought me. Jake served deadly mushrooms to the man who was blackmailing him. And he never mentioned any of this to me, despite having many opportunities.” He looked from Loma to Quinn. “Does that seem like something an innocent man would do?”

  Quinn didn’t say that his point was legitimate, but she did feel like she needed to offer an opposing argument. “Rico, what is Jake’s motive to kill Emmett? Nothing in the blackmail notes was so outrageous as to ruin Jake’s life or send him over the edge of despair. Like Loma said, everything was true and most of it was already public knowledge, or at least public knowledge within Jake’s circle of friends. None of this information would harm Jake professionally or personally, and that two hundred dollars was not a hardship for him to pay. It probably came out of the petty cash at the diner.”

  “Petty cash. You tell him.” Loma crossed her arms and boosted her bosom until it flopped over her wrists. Quinn began to recognize this as Loma’s I-mean-business posture. She had to admit, it had power.

  Rico stared at them. Quinn saw his nose twitch. “I’m not gonna lie—”

  “As if that needed to be said.”

  “—but this twist, as you call it, does not look good for Jake. In fact, it looks very, very bad.” Quinn and Loma began to speak at the same time, but Rico held up one hand to silence them. “You’ve told me what you wanted to tell me and now I have to think about it.” Rico stood and Quinn did too. Loma remained seated with her arms crossed.

  Quinn left the conference room while Loma stayed behind to reiterate all the same arguments to Rico. Quinn walked over to Donnie, sitting at his desk filling out a form. “Hey, Donnie. Can I ask you something?”

  Donnie glanced up, suspicion on his face. “I guess.”

  “When you were at the diner the other day, why did you race out the back when Rico came in?”

  He stared hard at her, jaw working.

  It was clear to Quinn he had some important reason to keep the answer to himself. He kept staring at her and she leaned in, anticipating gathering another clue in this mystery. Maybe this would be the one that cracks it wide open and exonerates Jake. She tried to arrange her face in an open manner, inviting Donnie to spill his innermost secrets.

  Finally, he glanced across the room toward the conference room where Loma was still haranguing Rico, then he glanced to the side to see if Chief Chestnut was around. Assuring himself that his secret would only be heard by Quinn, he leaned closer to her and whispered. “Because he’ll tell my mom I’m off my diet. Have you ever noticed he can’t tell a lie? Not even for a friend? It’s creepy.”

  Quinn sighed. “You’re right, it is creepy.”

  Even though his door was closed, Chief Chestnut’s bellow from his office sailed easily to Donnie’s desk. “Garfield! What the hell is a poem that has fourteen lines?”

  Rondel, Quinn thought.

  “Don’t know, Chief,” Donnie bellowed back. Then, quieter to Quinn, “He’s doing the crossword.”

  “I thought that only came out on Wednesdays,” she said innocently.

  “Special edition. He wouldn’t shut up about it. If he was a happier sort, I think he would have danced a jig.”

  Quinn felt the warmth of self-satisfaction radiating through her body. She tamped it down so she wouldn’t look smug, then rescued Rico by dragging Loma away from the police station. Back at the di
ner she kept the Closed sign visible and locked the door.

  “I think you and me are the only two people on earth who think Jake is innocent. We’ve got to get him out of the slammer.” Loma glanced around the diner and began snapping the rubber band on her wrist.

  Quinn wondered if snapping that band was one of those “tells,” like in poker where players subconsciously signal what they’re thinking. Did it mean Loma didn’t think Jake was innocent? Did it mean Loma was hiding something? Quinn couldn’t decide, but she did know she wasn’t going to mention that she wasn’t completely convinced of Jake’s innocence. Questions kept piling up and what Quinn was sure of yesterday, she wondered about today.

  “I need some tea,” Quinn said. “Want some?”

  “Sure.”

  “And we better talk in Jake’s office so nobody sees the lights and thinks we’re open.” Keeping the diner closed made Quinn’s palms sweat, but she couldn’t focus right now on the diner. These blackmail notes would have to become her obsession.

  After they had steaming mugs of peppermint tea in front of them, Quinn said, “Tell me about the fundraiser.”

  “What’s to tell? Boring speeches, big checks, brazen self-promotion for my interior design business. At least the food was good.”

  Quinn wrapped her hands around the mug, the warmth soothing on her hands. She’d almost forgotten about that boiling pot of oatmeal. She was lucky she hadn’t been seriously burned. “Did you know Jake was cooking?”

  “Not ’til I got there.”

  “Did you recognize other people there?”

  “Of course, all movers and shakers.” Loma rattled off a list of names Quinn had never heard of. “And Emmett, of course.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “No. I was busy trying to drum up business from my tablemates and I knew he was broke.” A guilty grimace flashed across Loma’s face. “I know it was supposed to be a fundraiser for the governor, but I need to raise funds more than he does.”

  “Is your business…struggling?” Quinn knew this was prying, but she was technically investigating a crime, not conversing with a friend.

  Loma blanched. “No! Why, have you heard something?”

  “No, not a word. I was just…prying.”

  “Just between us friends, I’m not doing bad, but I could do better. And now I feel awful laying it on so thick with Margosha to hire me, especially when I was a guest at her table.” Loma whipped out her phone. “Look at how lovely it was.” She held out her phone to Quinn while scrolling through photos. The ballroom was decorated in silver and teal. Loma paused at a photo of her with her arm around the waist of another woman, all exotic hair and makeup. She had several inches on Loma. “Man, I looked hot that night. On fuego.”

  “Smokin’. Who’s that with you? She’s gorgeous.”

  “That’s Margosha.”

  “Wow. I bet she’s wearing enough makeup to paint a barn.”

  “Nope. Not that I noticed anyway. And I don’t think she’s had any work done either.”

  “Remarkable. And very unfair.” Quinn patted her hopeless bun and plucked at her baggy clothes.

  Quinn’s fears that Rico’s head might be turned roared back. “I’ve been trying to talk to her but she keeps avoiding me. Any idea why?”

  “No clue. Her English isn’t so great, even though she’s been here a pretty long time. But you can get away with a lot when you’re that gorgeous. Maybe she just didn’t know why you were calling. Why do you want to talk to her?”

  “Her alibi, for one thing.”

  “Same as everyone else. She was at the fundraiser.”

  “Yeah, I guess in this case alibis are stupid. What I’m more interested in anyway is whether she’s the beneficiary of Emmett’s life insurance and whatever estate he has. I want to know if she knows who the silent partner was in Emmett’s business.” Quinn watched Loma’s face very carefully to see if she had any reaction to the words silent partner. Loma’s face was buried in her teacup. “I also want to know if Margosha knew any of the cater-waiters who were serving at the fundraiser.” Quinn looked at Loma. “Did you know any of the servers?”

  “None that come to mind.” She shrugged. “But I go to a lot of events like that. They all kinda run together.”

  Quinn nodded, but as someone who never went to fancy events, she was not entirely sure if what Loma said made sense. “And I want to know if Margosha was ever in the kitchen that night.” Quinn pressed her lips together, worried she’d said too much, but her brain was working overtime. “Wait. You said her English was bad. Is that a reason someone would cut letters from a magazine for a blackmail note? So they don’t have to call anyone on the phone? Or is that strictly to disguise handwriting?” Quinn realized she had been touching her fingers to her thumbs, and slid her hands under her thighs. “Can you get her to talk to me?”

  “I can try.” Loma pulled out her phone but had to leave a voice mail. “Hey, Margosha. Two things. Have you found Emmett’s paperwork about what he wants for his funeral? I mean, if we can’t find it we can try and guess about flowers and music and whatnot, but we don’t even know if he wants cremation or burial. So let me know. And the second thing is, my friend Quinn needs to talk to you. She has some questions for you about Jake that might help get him out of jail. She’ll call you tomorrow.” Loma raised her eyebrows and Quinn nodded.

  “You know, maybe she doesn’t want to talk to me because she thinks Jake’s guilty. Why would she want to talk to me if I think he’s innocent?”

  “Good point.”

  They both sipped their tea, peppermint permeating the air in Jake’s office.

  “So, you’re helping plan Emmett’s funeral?”

  Loma nodded. “I’ve known the two of them forever and I have some experience with funerals. Buried both my mama and pops last year.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Loma brushed Quinn’s sympathy aside. “It is what it is. I try to remember the good stuff.” She drained her tea, then crossed her arms.

  Quinn stiffened, worried about what was coming next. She relaxed immediately when Loma said, “You know, in cop shows, they always have a big whiteboard or something to write all their clues on. Can we do that?”

  Quinn’s eyes lit up and she stood. “We can indeed. We don’t have a whiteboard, but there’s a huge roll of butcher paper and colored markers in the storeroom. We can use the big booth.” She checked the time. “It’s after closing so it doesn’t matter now if anyone sees us out there.”

  Quinn tore off a tablecloth-sized piece of paper and draped it across the entire table. Loma dropped the markers in the center.

  “Let’s write down all the suspects.” Quinn grabbed a thick black marker and, centered at the top, wrote in all caps: WHO KILLED EMMETT DUBOIS? Using a red marker, she began a bulleted list at the left margin by writing MURDER MYSTERY PARTY GUY. Then a blue one and wrote SILENT PARTNER.

  Then a green one, MARGOSHA DUBOIS. Yellow for ANONYMOUS CALLER. Pink for MICHAEL BRECKENRIDGE.

  “Who’s that?”

  “An ex-employee of Jake’s who’s acting really hinky.”

  “Hinky?”

  “Suspicious. Keeps hanging up on me.”

  “I hang up on people all the time.”

  “But all of Jake’s other ex-employees have been happy to talk to me and tell me what a great boss Jake was.”

  “Great?”

  “I know, right?” Quinn picked up the purple marker and wrote DONNIE GARFIELD. Quinn had held the slanted tip the wrong way and was dismayed to see how different it looked from the way she’d written the other names. It was all she could do to keep from wadding up the paper and starting over, since she’d ruined the entire thing. She would have if she’d been alone.

  “Wait. The cop? Why him?”

  “I don’t know. Just a gut f
eeling. Don’t you think it’s weird that even though he never takes initiative—according to Rico anyway—he immediately thought the mushrooms might be important and preserved them? But at the same time he can’t identify the guy who gave him the plate to serve to Emmett?”

  Loma nodded. “I guess.”

  She cut her eyes at Loma, who held out the orange marker with an expectant look.

  “Who’s next?”

  Quinn uncapped the orange marker, but hovered it above the butcher paper. She lowered it far enough to make a bullet on the page before lifting it in the air again. She did this three more times before Loma grabbed her wrist.

  “Just write it. The suspense is killing me!”

  Quinn pulled the face people made when they smelled garbage or tasted a bad clam. Or accused their boss of murder. Then she wrote JAKE SZABO.

  Loma took a step back from the table. “No way. You’re kidding, right?”

  Quinn began touching the fingers on her left hand to her thumb. Her right hand still gripped the orange marker. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but Rico is right. Jake was being blackmailed and now the blackmailer is dead. That doesn’t look good.”

  “But you said yourself that someone might be pretending to be Emmett blackmailing Jake.”

  “True. But now that I think about it, it’s kind of a long shot, isn’t it?”

  The two women stared at the butcher paper. Finally Loma said, “You know that’s a work of art, right? How do you get everything so straight? And I love the drop shadow boxes around all their names.”

  All Quinn could see was the terrible purple slant to Donnie Garfield’s name. And, of course, the names of potential murderers. To avoid having to talk further about them, Quinn added some more flourishes. She made sure all the T’s were crossed with the same-sized line. She added a triangle to the center of the capital A’s and a dot in the center of the O’s, in contrasting colors.

  “Such a lovely list for a terrible project.”

  “Like all of my reports for school. My teachers loved me. I was very organized.” Loma didn’t need all the particulars, but Quinn continued: “When I was ten, I got an entire box of Cagney and Lacey videotapes from my neighbor’s garage sale.”