by Becky Clark
Most of the complainers she’d ever served were sitting over there at the Retireds’ table. She supposed any of them could have swiped one of the catalogs from Jake, just like she swiped the one from the Crazy Mule. But studying the men, she couldn’t picture any of them—not even Wilbur—creating that note, or worse, murdering anyone.
After a small, confused shake of her head, she cleaned the empty tables again before the lunch rush. The Retireds scooted out their chairs, screeching them across the floor. They dropped cash on the table and shuffled out the door.
Wilbur made a move for the door, but veered in her direction. He started to speak, but Quinn held up her hand.
“Don’t start with me, Wilbur.”
He glanced back at the rest of the Retireds, fighting over the toothpicks and mints at the cash register. He kept his voice low, fingering the brim of his Panama hat so it went in slow circles. “Just wanted to say… thanks for working so hard here, keeping this place open.”
Quinn could form no words, so simply nodded, as if this kind of thing happened between them all the time.
Wilbur plopped his hat on his head and turned to join his friends.
Quinn hurried after him and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned, she hugged him, hard.
After a bit, he pulled away, calling to the Retireds. “See that, boys? I still got it!”
“Well, don’t give it to Quinn! She’s finally figured out how to make my toast,” Silas said.
Wilbur was the last one out the door. He stopped to unwrap a peppermint, saw Quinn watching, and winked at her.
The diner was empty now and Quinn found her mind working over the events of the last couple of days. She found herself whispering baba ghanoush repeatedly and had to stop herself for fear this would become an unwelcome habit. She needed to use the phrase to disrupt her obsessive thinking, not replace it.
But still, she thought about the word while she cleared the Retireds’ table. She’d never actually eaten baba ghanoush. She dried her hands and Googled it. She thought it was a kind of hummus, but didn’t know where it was from. Wikipedia told her it was “a Lebanese appetizer of mashed cooked eggplant mixed with tahini, olive oil, possibly lemon juice and various seasonings.” Maybe she should make some for the diner. That might be asking too much of the Chestnut Diner community, though. But maybe not, now that Georgeanne had fed some of them. Aside from the green chili, there wasn’t a lot of ethnic food on the menu. And green chili was hardly ethnic.
Not a lot of anything was very ethnic or exotic about Chestnut Station. Certainly not the diner. Not the clothing stores, unless you counted Rick’s Western Wear, with his selection of ostrich-skin boots. And Quinn didn’t. None of the people in Chestnut Station were very exotic. They were all interesting, charming even, in their own way, but none could be described as exotic. Not like Margosha Dubois.
Quinn went back to cleaning the tables, but now Margosha was on her mind. She didn’t think Margosha was Lebanese, but there was a connection between her and baba ghanoush. With Jake helping Margosha with her English skills, and the multitude of recipes for baba ghanoush, it seemed to Quinn that they were both trying to fit into the mainstream, maybe pretend they weren’t as foreign as they seemed.
Quinn was woke enough to know that just because someone was foreign didn’t make them bad. She was ashamed the idea flitted through her mind. But then she stopped, mid-wipe of the tabletop. She remembered all the reasons she had suspected Margosha for killing Emmett and setting up Jake for the murder. None of it had to do with the fact she was foreign.
Quinn simply couldn’t accept that either Jake or Loma were guilty. They were both people she liked and got along with. At least until recently. She couldn’t let it be true. She plopped down into one of the chairs. But Margosha could definitely be Emmett’s silent partner. Wives and husbands were in business together all the time, and it would make sense that it wasn’t public information since she wasn’t in the restaurant business. That might make other potential investors nervous. As a partner, she absolutely would have been harmed by the falling-out Emmett and Jake had. She knew Margosha was in a sham marriage to Emmett and was going to get a payday when they got divorced. The restaurants would have been worth a fortune, and if she blamed Jake… well, murders happened for lesser reasons. And the life insurance, now that Emmett was dead, must be worth a pretty penny. Didn’t Kelli tell her all the employees at the Crazy Mule got a $500,000 policy if they hung around long enough? Maybe management received even more. With no kids and no second marriage for either of them, she was still the logical beneficiary.
The diner wasn’t busy, so Quinn cleared away some things from Jake’s desk and unrolled the big butcher paper sheet of clues that she and Loma had worked on the other day. She gasped when she saw blood in the corner, then smiled when she remembered that Loma had made a late-night doughnut run and had dripped jelly doughnut on the paper. She’d said, “Doughnut you dare spill jelly on my homework!” and they both dissolved into giggles. Stress, lack of sleep, and too much sugar had conspired to help them bond.
Quinn rubbed the jelly stain with her finger. It had been nice to have a girlfriend to giggle with again. She dialed Loma’s number and was more than a little surprised when she answered right away.
“What do you want?” The words sounded harsh, but Loma’s voice didn’t. Quinn thought maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part.
“Loma, I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean the things I said. You’re not an idiot.” Quinn held her breath until Loma spoke.
“And you’re not a Crappy McCrapface.”
“You never called me that.”
“I was thinking it.”
Quinn heard the smile in Loma’s voice and relaxed.
The pause in the conversation cleared the air between them and reset their relationship.
“Crappy McCrapface?” Quinn asked.
“I was a little off my game. So, what’s up? Any news about Jake?”
“No. Well, maybe.” Quinn switched her phone to her other ear and proceeded to tell Loma her theory about Margosha’s probable guilt in killing Emmett and framing Jake. “It makes perfect sense.”
“Not really.”
Quinn repeated her argument. “What’s wrong with it? Tell me why I’m wrong.”
Loma hemmed, hawed, and sighed. “I can’t.”
“I knew it!” Quinn yelled and fist-pumped in the silent office. She tiptoed to the doorway to see if anyone had come into the diner while she wasn’t paying attention. Nobody. Quinn slid into the closest booth. “Okay. So, here’s my plan.”
“You already have a plan?”
“I always have a plan.” Quinn winced at the truth of her statement. “You told me the other day that you and Margosha were having trouble planning Emmett’s funeral and you were going to meet with his attorney to try and find anything with Emmett’s wishes on it.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, have you done it yet?”
“No.”
“Can I go with you when you go next week?”
“We’re not going next week. We’re going today.”
“On Sunday? What kind of attorney is open on Sunday?”
“It was the only time he could meet us. He’s heading out of town.”
“Can I go with you?”
“I guess, but I’m already in Denver. You’ll have to meet us there.” Loma paused. “Are you going to do anything crazy with Margosha? I don’t want to be a party to a catfight or a crazy citizen’s arrest or anything.”
“Don’t worry. Nothing like that’s going to happen.” But Quinn wasn’t completely convinced. Firmly, she said, “Margosha is the murderer and when we see that life insurance policy we’ll know for sure.”
“Girl, just because someone is the beneficiary of a life insurance policy doesn’t mean they’re a murderer.�
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“Except in this case. I’m sure of it. And an attorney will be a fantastic witness when we confront her.”
“What’s this we of which you speak? Got a mouse in your pocket? Besides, why hasn’t Rico gotten the will yet?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn said slowly. “Maybe he has. I can’t tell if he’s lying to me or not.”
“Have you asked him? I thought you said the two of you were working on this together.”
“He’s—we’re—”
“Did you call him an idiot too?”
Quinn changed the subject because a thought popped into her head. “Why do you have to meet the attorney in person? Why couldn’t he tell you about Emmett’s wishes over the phone?”
“Margosha begged him. She said—”
“Aha! She begged him! She needs her hands on that will for some reason. And you and I are going to find out why.”
“Call Rico and tell him to meet us there, or better yet, have him come with you.”
“I’m on it. Either way, I’ll see you there.” Quinn hung up, then walked over to the door of the diner and flipped the sign from Open to Closed. She dialed her mom. “Hey. Want to handle the diner for me again today?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Be right over.” Before Georgeanne disconnected, Quinn heard her yell to Dan, “Honey! Get some pants on. We’ve got work to do!”
Next, Quinn called Rico. She reiterated everything she’d said to Loma about Margosha, but on the second telling felt much more confident about her conclusions. She ended with asking him to come with her to the attorney’s office.
Rico let her talk without interruption, then calmly said, “I can’t.”
“Well, meet us there, then.” Quinn rattled off the name of the law firm and the rough directions.
“I can’t come because it’s not Margosha, not because I’m too busy.”
“Why do you keep insisting it’s not her without telling me why? You can’t tell a lie! Why are you lying about this?” Quinn shouted in frustration.
“I’m not lying. It’s not Margosha.”
Quinn took some deep breaths to calm herself. She knew from experience that nothing she could say would sway Rico from what he believed, even though she was fairly certain she had finally taught him how to lie. She tried a different tactic. “Have you seen the will or the life insurance policy yet?”
“No.” Rico expelled a breath too. “Listen, Quinn, don’t go doing something stupid. It’s not Margosha—”
“But—”
“And I can’t tell you why.”
“I thought you said I could help you with this investigation.”
“I know I did,” Rico said quietly. “But I’m just not sure how to make that work.”
“Maybe it would work if you’d trust me.” Quinn hung up on him. I’ll show him, she thought. Loma and I will go down there and confront Margosha and with the help of Emmett’s attorney, we’ll get her arrested and Jake released.
* * * *
Quinn was halfway through another set of explicit instructions for her parents about handling the diner the rest of the day, when she stopped mid-sentence. “You’re not going to do any of that, are you?”
“Honestly? No,” Dan said.
“Not a chance,” Georgeanne said. “I’ve already got a recipe for the lunch special. Have you got any bittersweet chocolate?”
“I’m not sure. What did you have in mind?” Quinn asked cautiously.
“Spaghetti mole.”
Quinn squinted at her. “Mole, like for Mexican food?” When Georgeanne started to answer, Quinn held up her hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She gathered up her bag. “Oh, and I fixed the cash register.”
“And the credit card dealy?” Dan asked.
“Nope. Still a cash business. But it’s all good.” Quinn tipped her head toward her mother, already bustling around the kitchen. “At least on the money front.”
“You don’t worry about her. Go. Do your errands. We’ll be fine.” Dan kissed her on the top of her head.
Quinn left the diner with a smile, turning the Closed sign to Open.
* * * *
Quinn recognized the neighborhood she drove through near the attorney’s office. It seemed like she’d seen it on the news recently, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was a gentrified neighborhood in Denver called Belcaro, filled with historic cottonwood and spruce trees and big, old renovated houses with wide porches and carefully cultivated flower gardens. Most were turned into law or dental offices, but many were now upscale boutiques and shops selling one thing. Candles. Kebabs. Cakes.
Quinn parallel parked at the curb a few doors down from the attorney’s office. When Quinn reached the wooden sign for Patterson Law Offices planted in the lawn, she glanced around for Loma, hoping she’d get there before Margosha did. She didn’t quite know how either of them would be without Loma as a buffer.
She spotted Loma getting out of her car at the Donut King next door. Loma checked her watch, started for the door, then saw Quinn waving at her. With a sigh, Loma pivoted and joined her on the sidewalk in front of the attorney’s office.
“If I knew there was a doughnut place next door, I would have come earlier and picked up a dozen.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to have doughnuts.”
“That’s why I have doughnut holes.” Loma tapped the side of her head. “They’re healthier for you.”
“Not if you eat a dozen.”
“Better than eating a dozen doughnuts. Portion control. It’s the name of the game, Quinn.”
Quinn raised her eyebrows, choosing not to remind her that she’d bought full-size doughnuts on her doughnut run the other night. “If those are your only two choices. But let’s go over the plan again, before Margosha gets here.”
“Look at those beautiful old trees,” Loma said, ignoring her. “I’d love to renovate one of these old places and have this landscape to work with. The first thing I’d do—”
“You.” Margosha turned to Loma. “Why she is here?”
“I told her she could come,” Loma said.
Margosha made a little huff noise and brushed past them, her stilettos tap-tap-tapping on the brick walkway. Loma bugged out her eyes at Quinn behind Margosha’s back and they followed her to the wraparound porch.
Quinn hoped Loma wasn’t getting cold feet.
Margosha jabbed the buzzer with more force than was necessary. Someone inside buzzed back and the door clicked open. Just as Margosha tried to go inside, a woman came out. They both startled.
“Excuse me. I was just going out to do a couple of quick errands. I’m Katrina. Attorney Patterson is expecting you—go on back.”
Katrina held the door for them, then left them alone. They were in the reception area of an office that had once been elegant and stylish, but had turned the corner into slightly shabby. The furniture showed signs of wear, with scuff marks on the legs, perhaps from years of overzealous vacuuming. The carpet was ragged and stained in the high-traffic areas.
The receptionist’s desk had a nameplate reading Katrina O’Toole. A pale pink cardigan was draped neatly on the back of a chair.
Margosha and Loma headed down the hall. Quinn stayed in the reception area in case Margosha decided to bolt when they confronted her.
Patterson greeted Margosha and Loma by name and they exchanged some pleasantries. Quinn couldn’t hear everything but caught snippets of the conversation, especially when Loma spoke. She hoped Loma would remember everything Quinn wanted her to ask.
Loma’s voice boomed louder. “Do you have a copy of Emmett’s will or life insurance policy?” Attagirl, Loma. “We’re looking for something that spells out his funeral wishes.”
“Emmett…new attorney…something like that…don’t hav
e…can’t show it to you anyway.”
“Why not?” Loma asked.
“… neither of you…beneficiaries…strictly legal…”
Quinn quit listening to his muffled explanation of estate law. Margosha wasn’t Emmett’s beneficiary? How was that possible? This was all for nothing? Why didn’t the attorney just tell them that when they called to make the appointment? And how did he know who the beneficiaries were if he didn’t have the document? It sounded like he’d said Emmett had a new attorney, but maybe she just hadn’t heard right.
Ideas whirled through her mind until she realized she needed a restroom. There was no reason to worry about Margosha bolting, so this was as good a time as any to avail herself, especially since there was no way she’d make it back to Chestnut Station without a pit stop.
Quinn looked around for a restroom. The law office was a refurbished old house, so the reception area was the living room or parlor area. She walked around the corner to what used to be the kitchen, set up with the makings of a break room: small table and chairs, three-quarter-sized refrigerator, microwave, coffee station.
Quinn passed through an open archway at the back of the kitchen area. As she turned the corner she ran into a rather inconveniently placed table with a lamp on it. When her knee caught the table, it made the ceramic country-style lamp wobble. She grabbed for it and resettled it in the center of the table. She realized why it was there, however, because it was very dim back here, with no windows or other lighting.
She took another step, being very careful to give the table a wide berth, and realized she was at the end of the hallway where Patterson’s office was. The restroom door was blessedly open. It would be embarrassing to have to poke her head into their meeting to ask where it was.
She had just soaped up her hands when she received a text. Before she left the restroom she looked at it.
From Loma. Where are u? Fancy a donut? She hadn’t spelled out the word, though, just posted an emoji of a doughnut. Quinn texted back an emoji of a smiley face with its finger to its lips as if saying “shh.”
