Two Sleuths Are Better Than One

by Elizabeth Ashby

  "What is it?" I asked. "I need to know everything, even if it might seem incriminating."

  "I hate to even think it, but while most of the regular guild members were here working on the raffle quilt yesterday morning, so I can confirm that they couldn't possibly have killed Andy, there's one guild member I was expecting who didn't show up yesterday."

  "That doesn't sound so bad. I'm sure people end up with last-minute reasons to skip a meeting."

  "Oh, sure," Emma said. "Two other people didn't show up, but they didn't have any reason to be angry with Gabe. Zoe Costa did."

  "What's Zoe's story?"

  "She made the quilt that was the reason for Gabe coming to town."

  "Matt told me it was beautiful," I said. "But if you think Zoe had a motive for murder, then I gather the commission didn't go smoothly."

  "It did, up to a point," Emma said. "Gabe approved the design and materials without any changes, and everything seemed fine. Zoe said he was an ideal client. She was the one who suggested bringing him here to speak when she'd have the quilt ready for him to pick up. Dee and I didn't know anything about him, just relied on Zoe's recommendation. I thought he was kind of a nuisance to work with, nickel-and-diming us over expenses, but nothing I couldn't handle. And then at the end of the meeting when it was time to hand over the quilt, something went wrong. Gabe and Zoe had a big argument, and he left without the quilt."

  That explained why Georgia hadn't seen the quilt at the cottage. Zoe still had it. And it also meant that Gabe's death wasn't a robbery gone wrong. At least not a quilt robbery. Other things could have been taken from Coach Andy's cabin, but they wouldn't implicate a quilter. "What soured the deal?"

  "I don't know," Emma said. "I was out in the hall talking to Gil about the community room's availability for a holiday event, and I could hear the shouting but not the individual words. Dee missed it too because she was talking to a woman who was new to the guild, to make sure she enjoyed her first meeting. You'd have to ask Zoe for the details."

  "If Zoe did kill Gabe, I'll need to see if I can find out more than just that they had an argument."

  "That's easy," Emma said. "She'll be here in another hour or so for a shift selling raffle tickets. I confirmed it with her this morning. You could ask her about her quilt then. I'd be happy to introduce you. I've been telling her for ages that she really ought to have her quilts appraised for her buyers' insurance companies. Sort of like some jewelry makers do, to reassure the clients that they're getting their money's worth."

  "I'll check back in an hour then." There was plenty to do in the meantime. Like getting some of Tommy Fordham's amazing tomatoes. Matt's property was too shady and mine was too small for a vegetable garden, although I could probably plant some tomatoes in pots on the back patio. I wasn't in a big rush to grow my own, since I doubted I could produce anything better than Tommy's offerings. "I've got some shopping to do."

  "So do I," Emma said. "I'll walk with you. Dee was looking up some information about traditional blocks and found one known as corn and beans, so now she's planning to make a corn and beans salsa for next week's contest. I'm supposed to get the ingredients for her to practice with. She's not much of a cook though, so I'm trying to keep her from getting her hopes up. She'd really love to win the prize of being mentioned in an Elizabeth Ashby book."

  "I hope her recipe is good then," I said. "From what I've heard, she's going to have a lot of competition."

  "I tried telling her that, but you know how she is," Emma said.

  I nodded. Dee thought she was invincible and never paid much attention to the risks of failure. On the plus side, at least it would keep her distracted from doing anything risky to investigate Gabe's murder.

  *

  Emma left to go find some sweet corn, while I made a beeline for the tomatoes. I'd never been lucky enough before to arrive at Fordham Farms' stall when there wasn't a line, but an announcement a few minutes earlier that the chef from Gino's Pizza was offering tasting samples during his upcoming session had caused a bit of a stampede out of the market and down the hill to the salsa-demonstration area in front of the historical garden.

  Tommy Fordham was in his early thirties, and I'd heard that he used to be a Marine. He'd suffered a spinal injury, which paralyzed him from his waist down. His sleeveless T-shirt proclaiming himself to be the Tomato Whisperer revealed upper-body musculature that explained how he was able to farm from a wheelchair. His military discipline and commitment to fitness had apparently carried over into his civilian life, along with his buzz-cut hairstyle.

  He rolled himself over to my end of the display table. "Keely, I was hoping to see you today. I know you usually get grape tomatoes, but we've got a bumper crop of oxheart and paste tomatoes right now, and they're great for making tomato sauce if you want to try it. You can freeze them now and cook them after the weather cools down."

  "My kitchen's too small for that kind of cooking, and I don't know if we'll ever be able to cook at Matt's place," I said. "Let's stick to what's best for eating fresh for now."

  "Okay." Tommy grabbed a lemon-colored tomato from a pile and used his pocketknife to carve out a wedge-shaped piece. "Tell me what you think of this. The yellow ones tend to have less acid and make for excellent fresh eating."

  I took the sample and bit it in half. It might not look much like what I thought of as a tomato, but it definitely tasted like one. "That's amazing. How about I get a couple pounds of them, along with my usual pound of grape tomatoes?"

  "Got it." He began bagging up the tomatoes. "I'm planning to grow a yellow grape variety next year. If I do, you'll have to let me know what you think of it."

  I swallowed the second half of the sample, which was just as good as the first bite. "I'll look forward to it."

  Tommy handed me the two bags, and I gave him my debit card. He rolled a few feet away to where a petite woman with red hair pulled back in a long ponytail had the credit card reader. While I waited for them to process the transaction, I turned around to watch the people enjoying the market. The crowd was still sparse at that moment, but new arrivals who were presumably unaware of the freebies on offer at the salsa demonstration were making their way up to the Memorial Walkway from the parking lot. Across from Fordham Farms' stall and down one space, the Baxter twins were ensconced in front of the first aid tent, chatting with passersby. Anyone standing here or inside Tommy's stall on Saturday would have had a clear view of people coming and going from the murder scene.

  "Here's your receipt," Tommy said from behind me.

  I turned to take it. "Were you here yesterday morning when Coach Andy was killed?"

  "I was," he said. "It's such a shame. Not just for his family but for the local kids."

  "I just noticed what a good view you have of the first aid tent. Did you see anything out of the ordinary yesterday morning?"

  "I wish I had," he said. "Maybe I could have stopped it. Or at least chased down the killer. As long as he didn't go up any stairs." He tapped the armrests of his wheelchair in explanation. "Or jump into the ocean. I'd just sink if I tried to follow."

  "Most people wouldn't even try." I'd probably pass out if I ever had to chase down a suspect. "I don't suppose you knew the guy who died at Andy's property last week. His name was Gabe Portillo."

  "Not personally," Tommy said. "But I've heard of him. I'm a big football fan. Gabe was too, and unlike me, he had the kind of money that got him access to the players. I've seen pictures of him hanging out with them at various team celebrations. The caption always said something about him being a generous donor to charities sponsored by the team."

  "So Gabe and Coach Andy were friends when he was a professional player?"

  "I wouldn't say friends exactly." Tommy waved at a woman heading in our direction with three kids orbiting her. "More like the players had to be nice to Gabe in order to keep the team owner happy. But I always got the impression Andy would have preferred to be anywhere else than at those parties."


  "I wonder why Andy offered Gabe the use of his cottage for the visit here then."

  "Probably for the sake of the wives. I used to see the two women together at games in Seattle. They were usually looking at each other, not at the cameras, and they seemed to be engaged in real conversations. I thought they were real friends, not just pretending for a photo opp."

  "But Georgia Portillo didn't come with her husband last week, and Andy still let Gabe use the guest cottage," I said.

  "Andy was generous with everyone anyway, so he'd have been nice to Gabe for the wife's sake, whether she was with him or not." Tommy looked away, apparently checking that the customer he'd waved to didn't need him. She seemed happy with the service of the redheaded woman who was offering the kids some tiny, raisin-sized tomatoes to taste test.

  Tommy turned back to me to ask, "You're not thinking Coach Andy killed his guest, are you? Is that what the police think?"

  "I don't know what they're thinking," I said. "And I haven't got a solid theory yet. I'm just trying to figure out who might have wanted Gabe dead."

  "Lots of possibilities," Tommy said. "Rumor had it Gabe was a compulsive gambler. He'd bet on anything, lose big at least as often as he won. He was rich, but even he had to have limits on the cash he could access quickly. Maybe someone killed him over a gambling debt."

  "Here in Danger Cove?" I asked, automatically looking around me at the wholesome market setting that wasn't all that different from the rest of the town. "I can picture serious gambling and scary enforcement thugs in a big city, but is there really that dark an underworld right here in town?"

  "Crime can happen anywhere. Gabe could have come to Danger Cove to get away from a creditor who then followed him here."

  "That's good to know," I said. "I'd been told he was a jerk, but nothing that might have been a motive for murder."

  Tommy nodded at the redheaded woman who was weighing a bag of those tiny tomatoes. "My girlfriend thinks there's another motive for Gabe's death. When she read about it, she said he got what he deserved for cheating on his wife. She saw him last weekend with a woman who was barely an adult, and she was hanging all over him. I didn't believe it at the time because I knew the two wives were friends, and I couldn't imagine Coach Andy having anything to do with something sordid that would hurt his wife's friend."

  "Maybe he didn't know." Or at least hadn't known when he'd first issued the invitation to use the cottage, and then he caught Gabe sneaking his mistress into the place. Would Andy have confronted Gabe about it, perhaps concerned that his own reputation in the community would be damaged if it came out that he'd enabled an extramarital affair? He was expected to be a role model, after all, as both a teacher and a coach.

  "You could be right," Tommy said doubtfully before excusing himself to help his girlfriend with the line of customers that was starting to form behind the woman with the children.

  I wandered off, carrying my tomatoes carefully so as not to bruise them. The idea that Andy might have killed someone in order to protect his reputation for wholesomeness wasn't terribly logical. Committing murder certainly wasn't a good example for his students to follow. Still, it was possible the two men could have argued over Gabe's abuse of Andy's hospitality and there'd been a shoving match, with the large, athletic coach accidentally sending the older, less fit Gabe over the rail.

  The mistress at least opened up a new line of inquiry, one I might be able to gather some information on. Danger Cove was a small town, so if Gabe had been cheating on his wife here, someone was certain to know more about the other woman than just having seen her engaging in inappropriate public displays of affection with a married man. I had to find that person and introduce them to Detective Marshall, since if there really was a mistress, she would be a prime suspect as well as the embodiment of a possible motive for Georgia to kill her husband.

  Maria would also want to know about the mistress, since if she had been staying at Andy's cottage, it would establish a possible link between the two deaths. If Gabe had been killed either by, or because of, his mistress and Andy had known about the affair, then he too might have been killed because of her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Maria Dolores

  Merle and I took separate vehicles to the market on Sunday morning. And not, as Merle had jokingly suggested, because I was making contingency plans in case there was yet another murder and I needed to stick around to talk to the police after everyone else left. I had an errand to run before going to the market. When I'd called Mayor Kallakala to ask him to be the substitute judge for the salsa contest, he'd agreed but asked me to pick up some flyers at the print shop to advertise a memorial for Andy Zielinski, since he'd have to be at the market when they were ready.

  I'd already talked to the mayor before dinner on Saturday, or I might have asked Keely's boyfriend, Matt Viera, to take over the judging duties. I hadn't known him well enough before then to ask him for a favor, but now that I did, I would keep him in mind for future events at the market. The middle-aged woman who'd asked him to pose for a selfie on the way from the bar to our table hadn't been the only person to make that request. He'd been very gracious about the interruptions, so he might not mind my using his celebrity as an internet spokesperson to encourage more tourists to check out the farmers' market.

  For now though, the mayor would be a good judge and emcee for the salsa contest that had mostly been advertised to local residents, not out-of-towners. He was popular, a good impromptu speaker, and not overtly political when he wasn't actively campaigning. Getting the flyers for him was a small enough request in return for him taking over at the last minute, but it would make me late for the market, since the print shop didn't open until ten on Sundays, the same time the market was set to open. Merle offered to keep an eye on the setup for me, but I didn't expect any real trouble.

  I parked in the market's lot about half an hour after opening time. After I got out of my car, before burdening myself with the box of flyers and my sling bag, I paused to take in the view of the market from the parking lot. Nothing seemed amiss. The Baxter twins were in their usual spots, flanking the entrance to the first aid tent, the stalls all had enticing displays, and seemingly happy buyers were wandering up the Memorial Walkway. That left me free to skip my usual rounds of the market itself. I grabbed the flyers and my bag and headed straight to the demonstration site in front of the historical garden. The first session of the day, featuring a popular chef from Gino's Pizza, was wrapping up. Mayor Kallakala stood about ten feet to one side of the tables, close enough to step in if there was a problem but far enough not to be a distraction. He was of average height and stocky, with a face that reflected his Native American heritage, and he watched the demonstration with a politely intent expression. I'd never seen him wearing anything other than a business suit, like the light-beige linen one he wore today, but I was still surprised that he hadn't made an exception for the market appearance due to either the hot weather or the risk of tomato juices splattering him during the demonstrations.

  I hurried over to him. We were far enough away from the crowd that a quiet conversation wouldn't distract from the chef's demonstrations, so I said, "I got your flyers. I already took out enough for me to give to the vendors to display in their stalls today, so you don't have to do that."

  "Thank you, Maria." He took the box from me, tucked it under one arm, and resumed watching the chef from Gino's Pizza with his standard, polite expression.

  I was reasonably sure that the mayor wasn't as interested as he appeared and he wouldn't mind a brief interruption, so I asked, "Are you all set for the rest of the demonstrations?"

  The mayor nodded. "Your assistant, Cary, was here when I arrived, and he made sure everything was set up. I hardly had to do anything other than to be my usual charming self."

  "I really appreciate your agreeing to do it on short notice." Doing things at the last minute went against my instincts and everything I believed in. I'd been a planner by nature long before I'd
trained to become a professional one in the financial world.

  "There's just one thing," Kallakala said with a rueful smile. "People seem to be getting even more riled up about the contest than they get over the salacious aspects of Harriet McCudgeon's Gold Rush History Tours. I'm glad you set up separate categories for traditional and nontraditional, or there might be flat-out war between the purists and the more adventurous entrants."

  "That kind of passion is just what I was counting on to bring everyone out to the market," I said. "And I'm sure you can keep them from breaking out in fistfights. You're good with people."

  "If all else fails," the mayor said, nodding at someone behind me, "there's always Officer Fields. Even the most dedicated salsa aficionado won't be able to withstand his community-policing skills."

  I glanced over my shoulder to see the uniformed officer surveying the crowd while absently removing the distinctively colored muffin wrapper that marked its contents as coming from the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery. His presence was reassuring, both to me and, I hoped, to the market vendors and buyers.

  "Still, I appreciate your being here too," I told the mayor.

  "Glad to do it, Maria," he said. "I just wish it wasn't under these circumstances. Coach Andy was a truly good human being. I can't believe anyone would want to kill him."

  "That seems to be the consensus," I said. "No one at all wanted him dead, as far as I can tell."

  "I don't envy Bud Ohlsen his job," Kallakala said, his expression of polite interest slipping slightly to be replaced with concern. "People here are going to want a quick resolution, but I can't even imagine where to start with finding suspects. Everyone loved the coach and will want to see justice done."

  "What about Andy's wife?" I asked. "Could she have wanted him dead?"

  "I really can't say." He glanced at the demonstration, although I thought he was just making sure it was going smoothly, not trying to avoid answering. After a moment he continued, "I don't know much about her at all. In fact, I'm not sure I'd recognize her if I ran into her."