by Becky Clark
Both officers pulled out their phones. Jefferson held hers out so Childers could see. He lifted his glasses to see the number, then dialed his. “This is Officer Childers with the Denver PD. To whom am I speaking?” He stepped into the shade of an awning, but not before Quinn heard him say, “Ah, Chief Chestnut. I have a couple of questions for you.”
Quinn thought she groaned silently, but Jefferson said, “Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” Quinn snapped her rubber band. “I didn’t do anything.”
The officer lowered her sunglasses. Quinn saw her staring at her red wrist. “Then you don’t have anything to be nervous about, do you?”
Quinn sat on her hands. She didn’t know how long she sat on that bench, but she began to wish she’d thought to slather on sunscreen that morning. She was going to get burned by the sun and by Chief Chestnut today. He’ll fill Officer Childers’s head with deep-seated hatred for me. These two examples of Denver’s finest will haul me off before I can lodge an official protest. Against what, she wasn’t sure, but she was fairly certain she’d need to protest something that Chief Chestnut had told him.
After an excruciatingly long time, Officer Childers returned to the bench, pocketing his phone. Quinn steeled herself for whatever came next.
“Okay, Ms. Carr. You’re free to go.”
That wasn’t what she’d steeled herself against. “What?”
“You’re free to go. Chief Chestnut vouched for you.”
“Vouched? For me?”
Officer Childers removed his sunglasses. “Is there something else I need to know?”
Quinn scrambled to her feet. “No, sir. Nothing else.”
“Head on back to Chestnut Station and your nutty statues and leave Mrs. Dubois alone.”
“Yes, sir. On my way.” Quinn scooped up her purse and her empty cup. “It’s just that…he vouched for me? Chief Chestnut?”
“Did I stutter?”
“No, but…I just didn’t think he knew me that well.”
“He knows your mom. Seemed a little afraid of her.”
“Afraid of my mom? That’s hilarious. My mom is the sweetest, most—” Quinn quit talking when she saw Officer Childers’s face. Clearly, he was uninterested in pursuing this conversation. “Thank you, Officer. Off I go!” Quinn race-walked back to her car. It might have been her imagination, but she felt the officers’ eyes on her back until she turned the corner. She fumbled for her keys and didn’t see the parking ticket until she was in the driver’s seat.
Chapter 14
While Quinn had been driving to Denver, Georgeanne had made herself at home in the diner’s kitchen. It was a good thing she brought along the contents of her spice cabinet. Jake didn’t have any cardamom, turmeric, or peppermint flavoring and not nearly enough Jamaican jerk seasoning. After studying the contents of the walk-in refrigerator and the pantry items, she designed the day’s menu.
First things first, she started up the huge pot to make her signature oatmeal.
There was a ton of pancake mix and she knew people at the diner loved their pancakes, but she also knew that Quinn had been making pancakes for days now, so she decided to spice them up. She whipped up a big batch, added this and that and, along with two eggs and two slices of bacon, dubbed it Georgeanne’s Saturday morning special.
She checked on Dan, who was making coffee and setting tables. “Anybody here yet?”
“Somebody rattled the door a couple minutes ago, but I told them to give us a few more minutes. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to rush.”
She put a hand on his cheek. “You’re a dear, dear. But go ahead and open the door. I think I’m ready.”
Dan gave her a peck on the cheek. “You’re absolutely glowing, Georgie.”
“I’ve waited a long time for this, Dan. I feel like a junior varsity baseball player called up to the majors.” She waved at the sandwich board. “Open the doors and let’s get that erased. As soon as the oatmeal is cooking, I’ll get the menu written.”
She hustled back to the kitchen and Dan unlocked the door. Jethro padded in and Dan stared as he made his rounds. Georgeanne yelped in the kitchen, then came out chasing Jethro with a dish towel. He loped in front of her toward the door. As he passed Dan, Jethro looked up at him with indignation etched on his face and infinite sadness in his droopy eyes.
Dan held the door for him. “Sorry, pal. You heard her. Out.”
Diners trickled in and Dan pointed out the two offerings for breakfast: Georgeanne’s famous oatmeal…healthy oatmeal that tastes good and the Saturday morning special.
Abe came in and clapped Dan on the back. “Got yourself a new job, eh?”
“Georgie and I are just helping out Quinn for the day while she takes care of some business.”
“Business like getting Jake out of jail?”
“Sure hope so,” piped up Wilbur as the Retireds shuffled in. He studied the sandwich board menu. “Oatmeal, eh?” He looked at Dan. “Any good?”
“I eat it every day.”
“That’s a good enough recommendation for me. Set me up with a bowl.”
“Me too,” said Bob.
“And me.” Silas rubbed his hands together.
“Coffee first,” said Larry.
Herman held out his cup for Dan to fill.
Abe sidled up to Dan, who was pouring coffee for the Retireds. “I’ve heard about your oatmeal. I’ll try the pancakes.” He laughed.
“Now don’t you go hurting Georgie’s feelings, Abe. She works real hard on her cooking,” Dan said. “There’s not enough kindness and empathy in the world today. Why does everyone have to snipe at each other? Why can’t everyone get along?”
“Get a long what?” Silas said, to the laughter of all the Retireds, except Herman, who was still cogitating over the joke.
Dan set the coffeepot down and leaned in, getting the attention of all the men. “You lot behave yourselves today. And if you have any complaints, you tell me in private, like in a whisper. I’m an easygoing guy, but I do not like to see my wife cry.” He picked up the pot. “Are we understood?”
All the men agreed, some more grudgingly than the others. After all, the Retireds’ raison d’être was to complain loudly about the food and the service at the diner. Without that, how would they spend their time?
Georgeanne cooked and Dan took care of the tables for the breakfast rush. He only had to quell a small uprising when a family of tourists passing through complained there was too much peppermint in the pancakes, their bacon was too crisp, and the oatmeal was gross. Dan tore up their check and sent them on their way, making the father happy. He could deal with his hungry teenagers and surly wife himself. Not Dan’s problem.
* * * *
Quinn started her car and blasted the air-conditioner, but didn’t pull away from the curb. She called her mom. “Hey, how’s it going over there?”
“Fine, dear. Your dad and I are really in a groove.”
“A groove like good rhythm or a groove like quicksand?”
“Quicksand doesn’t come in a groove.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Everything’s fine. Quit obsess—quit worrying.”
“Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Absolutely. But I’ve gotta go. I’m almost out of both breakfasts and I haven’t even thought about lunch yet.”
“Okay. Oh, Mom, one other thing. Why would Chief Chestnut be afraid of you?”
Georgeanne paused a bit, then laughed. “Afraid of me! I can’t think of one reason why.” She turned serious. “Why are you asking? Did something happen? Did he say something to you?”
“No. Everything’s fine.” Either Mom didn’t know why he’d be afraid of her or she didn’t want to tell me she had some dirt on him. They went to school together. Surely she knew things about him. Like me and R
ico. “I’ll talk to you later. Be back in a while. You’re sure everything’s under control?”
“Yes, Quinn. But it won’t be if I don’t get off this phone. Do what you need to do and we’ll see you later.” She disconnected.
Quinn drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and enjoyed the cool air that was finally wafting from the AC. A blast of a horn made her jump and she saw a car next to her with a driver whose face was contorted with anger. He flapped his hand at her to get her to move out of the parking spot. She waved him around, not ready to drive yet. She still had calls to make. Besides, blasting his horn at her only made her want to stay longer. People should learn to be polite. And patient.
She didn’t want to, but knew she had to call Rico. She didn’t want him to know she tailed Margosha today and hoped Chief Chestnut wouldn’t spill the beans, but she had to tell Rico about the disconnected number. She hoped it wouldn’t be awkward. She’d made such a big scene about it and now what would he think? Would he even believe that she had talked to the guy?
“Hi,” Rico said.
Pause.
“Hi,” Quinn said.
Pause.
It was awkward, all right.
“Quinn—”
“Rico—”
“You go first—”
“Go ahead—”
Pause.
Quinn took a deep breath.
“RicoIcalledthatguy’snumberanditwasdisconnected.” Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“I know. I called too.”
“You did?”
“I did. What kind of a cop would I be if I didn’t follow up leads?”
“But what do you think it means?”
“I think it means if he really was the guy in the diner with Emmett, he’s tying up his loose ends so he can erase his trail and disappear.”
Quinn pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Rico, it’s my fault. I scared him off. I called him, asking about the diner, talking about Chestnut Station.”
“You couldn’t possibly have made the connection without talking to him. If you didn’t call, we’d never have heard of him or Colorado Premium Employment. It’s not your fault. But I think that clue is a dead end.”
It seemed to Quinn that Rico had softened his attitude since their early-morning call. She decided that meant she was back on the case. And if Sam the headhunter was a dead end, it meant her questions about Margosha were still pertinent.
“Why isn’t Margosha a suspect in Emmett’s murder?”
“Because she’s not! Quit harping on this, Quinn. Let it go.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I have more important things to worry about.”
“I can explain. I was in Cherry Creek and she got spooked and called the police—”
“Who got spooked?”
“Margosha.”
“What have you done?”
“Nothing. I just…nothing.” What have I done? “What are the more important things you need to worry about?” Clearly, he hadn’t heard about the fiasco this morning. Not yet, anyway.
“For one, I’m trying to solve Emmett Dubois’s murder.”
“So am I, Rico!”
“Well, it’s not your job. Believe it or not, Quinn, this is serious and some things are none of your beeswax. Like my investigation into Margosha.”
Quinn felt like she’d been slapped. “But you said I could help.” Her voice came out meek and soft.
“I know what I said. But I didn’t think you’d go full Nancy Drew on me.” Rico took a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But I can’t talk to you about this right now. I have work to do. You okay?”
Quinn’s feelings were still bruised, but Rico was right. It’s not my job. If he’s convinced Margosha isn’t a suspect, then maybe I should let it go. “I’m fine.”
“Lunch today?”
“My parents are handling the diner for me. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Your parents?”
“Long story. I’ll try and catch up with you later.”
“Okay.” He paused. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“Talk to you later.”
Quinn knew Rico was a diligent, conscientious cop. If he hadn’t put Margosha on his suspect list, he must have a good reason. She just hoped it wasn’t because Margosha was gorgeous and used some sort of mythical siren charms on him.
But if Margosha wasn’t the murderer, it could only be Jake. He was the one with the motive and what about his alibi? Said he didn’t know anything about those mushrooms and then when Emmett actually died, claimed to be out in a field in the boonies on a wild-goose chase. And now it came out he had a temper and stalked Emmett?
Quinn just couldn’t picture Jake killing Emmett, though. It was entirely possible that someone was setting him up. But who? That cater-waiter who asked Donnie to serve that plate to Emmett? Wouldn’t that just implicate Donnie? Quinn rehashed the conversation she’d had with Donnie about that night and remembered that he’d told her a lot of the cater-waiters at the fundraiser were ex-employees of Emmett’s, which meant they might know Jake as well.
An SUV pulled up next to Quinn, casting a shadow over her car. She glanced over and the woman in the passenger seat made a please-roll-down-your-window gesture. When Quinn did, the woman said, “Are you leaving soon? We’d love your space if we’re not rushing you.” She flashed a hopeful grin.
“Absolutely. Back up a little bit so I can get out.” Quinn put her car in gear and pulled away from the curb, waving as she did so. The SUV gave a happy toot of its horn and the woman waved back.
“That’s how you get me out of a parking space,” Quinn said out loud. “Politeness.” She followed the route to the Crazy Mule and hoped Kelli was working and willing to chat with her again.
When Quinn got there, Kelli waved her to take any seat, then immediately came over with a menu. “Coffee or iced tea?”
“Tea would be great. It’s beastly hot out there.”
When Kelli placed a condensation-covered glass in front of her, Quinn said, “Do you have a minute? I wanted to ask you about cater-waitering. Do you know anything about it?”
Kelli glanced around the quiet restaurant, then slid into a chair across from Quinn. “I should. I do it on the side. What do you need to know?”
“How does somebody get hired, exactly?”
“In my case, I work for a couple of different catering companies. It’s a pretty lucrative side hustle. Kinda like being a substitute teacher. I only work when I want to. But I almost always say yes when they call me. This place is on its last legs and my tips are practically nonexistent these days. Are you looking for a job? I can get you some contacts.”
“That would be…great. Do you know who put on the governor’s fundraiser? Is it one of your regular ones?”
“No, that was a new one. Some guy called me because Emmett told them I was a great crew chief.” She made a sad face.
“Wait. You actually worked at the fundraiser for the governor?”
“Yeah. Made some fat tips too.”
Why hadn’t this come up before? Quinn wracked her brain. Surely she would have remembered if Kelli had already mentioned it. It suddenly seemed very suspicious, but just as quickly flitted away. Kelli was answering all her questions without seeming nervous or anything. She had no motive, plus she actually liked both Emmett and Jake.
She reprocessed Kelli’s earlier comment. “What’s a crew chief?”
“I’m in charge of the other waiters. Like their boss. Which is weird, since I never met any of them before.”
“Never?”
“I don’t think so.” She pulled her phone from her apron, tapped on it, then shook her head. “Nope, don’t know any of them.”
“That’s a list of all th
e cater-waiters that worked the fundraiser?”
Kelli held out her phone to Quinn, showing five names and phone numbers. “Yep.”
“Can I have that list?”
Kelli shrugged. “Sure. They could probably get you on some catering company lists too.”
Quinn took a screenshot of Kelli’s phone. Maybe Paul Sothern, Ahmed Mehta, Jimmy Kane, Sasha Brown, or Brittany Cohen could give her more information. But not about getting a job.
A customer started snapping his fingers in an attempt to summon Kelli. She rolled her eyes.
“How rude. Reminds me of a guy who wanted my parking place this morning.”
“Ooh, did he honk at you?” Kelli stood.
“Yes!”
“When people do that to me I just—”
She and Quinn spoke in unison: “Stay in the space longer!” They laughed.
Kelli said, “Guess I better get back to it. You want anything else?”
“Nah, I’ve got to get going. Thanks.”
“Sure thing.”
Quinn slipped a five under the saltshaker.
At the hostess stand, Quinn saw, on top of a pile of newspapers, the catalog for the FUNdamental Restaurant Products that she’d picked up after it fell out of the manager’s back pocket. She skidded to a stop. The bottom half of the cover was torn off. She grabbed for it. The blackmail notes swam in front of her face. The black lowercase J. Red capital A. Blue lowercase K and E spelling out J-A-K-E on the blackmail note Jethro sniffed out. I know what you did, Jake.
Quinn fanned the pages. An entire section in the middle had disappeared, pages 77–102 gone. Only the ragged traces torn at the edge remained.
The hostess walked up. “Party of one or are you waiting for someone?”
“Actually, can you tell me about this?” Quinn waved the catalog at her.
She shrugged. “That’s the catalog Mr. Koneckny, the manager here, orders supplies from.”
“Does this come in the mail? How often?”
“I don’t know. Probably monthly.” She squinted at Quinn. “So, no table?”
“No, I’m on my way out.” Quinn huddled near the door until the hostess stepped away, then she grabbed the catalog and fled, giddy at the prospect of finding the blackmailer. If it wasn’t Emmett, then it had to be Vince Koneckny. Quinn paused and gazed at the Crazy Mule as she unlocked her car door. Koneckny hadn’t seemed at all suspicious when she talked to him the other day. Granted, he didn’t know she worked for Jake at the diner. But still. Wouldn’t a blackmailer be a little nervous when they’d begun chatting about Loma, his blackmailee’s ex-wife?
