Miranda Bliss - Dying for Dinner

I could tell that after work the night before, Eve had gone home and watched the Sci Fi Channel. Or truTV. Or a little of both.

“I don’t think so,” I told her, and left it at that. What was the point of debating her theories, anyway? “But it sure is strange. And I sure would like to find out what’s going on. But where would we even begin? Even murder is more straight-up than identity theft. If that’s what it is. Fake driver’s licenses… I’m out of my league.” Just thinking about the possibilities-all of them terrible-made my heart pound. I told myself to get a grip. “There’s got to be some logical explanation for Monsieur having those licenses. I mean other than the spy/covert agent/alien angle. All we have to do is figure it out.”

This did not cheer me in the least. We had a murder on our hands already, and I had enough on my plate. Like a store to run. And all the paperwork piling up at Bellywasher’s. Not to mention the not-so-insignificant fact of Peter walking back into my life.

It was overwhelming, and because it was, I stuck with the tried and true.

“Monsieur’s not a crook,” I said, trying to convince Eve at the same time I tried not to think about the neatly stacked display of Vavoom! jars nearby. Seasoned salt that passed for some magical seasoning was one thing, sure, but it was a far cry from identity theft.

I went on putting words to my thoughts. “So if Monsieur isn’t a criminal, the licenses can’t mean anything. They sure can’t have anything to do with what happened here at the shop. Monsieur’s not even a suspect. At least I don’t think he is. Tyler didn’t make it sound that way.”

“No, he’s not a suspect.” For the second time in as many minutes, Eve was deep in thought. It was probably a record. “Monsieur’s a… a material… a material something.”

“Material witness?”

“That’s right.” Eve said this with so much conviction, I couldn’t help but look at her carefully, surprised. As soon as I saw a flush race up her neck and darken her cheeks, I knew what was coming.

“ Tyler called last night,” she said, and if the confession wasn’t enough to confirm my worst suspicions, the fact that she wouldn’t look at me was. “He mentioned it, that’s all.”

“He stopped at Bellywasher’s to see you yesterday. He called you last night. Eve, I’m not liking the sound of this. Are you and Tyler-”

“You watch your mouth, Annie!” As if she’d touched her finger to a live wire, Eve backed up until she was standing against the lighted cubbyholes that lined the wall behind the cash register. Each one featured a Très Bonne Cuisine product, artfully displayed. The light glanced against a copper saucepan and made Eve look as if she was surrounded by a metallic halo. “Don’t you even suggest anything like… like what you’re suggesting. It’s bad luck to talk about things like that. Or bad karma. Or something. Tyler and I…” She swallowed her words along with a breath of horror. “The man is despicable.”

“So you’ve been telling me for a whole year.” I leaned against the counter, the better to catch her eye. “But when I saw the two of you at Bellywasher’s yesterday, you didn’t look like you thought he was despicable.”

“Annie, you know me better than that.”

I did. Which was why when Eve went back to straightening the shopping bags without giving me details, I knew something was up. Eve is all about details.

“I was just being polite,” she said, her voice tight and her shoulders rigid. “You know, the way I would be to any customer. I wasn’t about to turn Tyler away. Not when he was going to buy lunch.”

It was the same thing I’d told myself about Peter.

The trick was, I knew how I felt about Peter and I had the sneaky feeling it wasn’t anything like what Eve was feeling for Tyler. Was I worried? Absolutely!

Which was why I had to probe-at least a little more.

“Only Tyler didn’t,” I reminded her. “Buy lunch, that is.”

I knew the moment she gave in because her shoulders heaved. She stood, her voice as pleading as her look. “It’s just that, with the wedding being postponed and all,… well, you understand, Annie. Tyler just needs someone to talk to.”

“The way I remember it, you and Tyler never talked.”

“And the way I remember it, you and Peter always did.”

She had me there.

Before I could admit it, though, Eve went right on. “But I didn’t see much talking going on between you and Peter yesterday. You made sure you hightailed it away from him before the boy could even begin talking.”

“Not true,” I pointed out. “Jim needed us to go to Monsieur’s. And we did. And then we found the IDs and…” We were back to where we started, and I was no happier now than I was then.

“Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong,” I said, far more comfortable with the puzzle of Monsieur’s vanishing act and Greg’s death than I was speculating about what Peter had up the sleeve of his suddenly-not-so-trendy polo shirt. “Monsieur’s disappearance is somehow connected to Greg’s death. That’s pretty obvious. So maybe we shouldn’t be looking at it from the perspective of him disappearing. Maybe we should be looking at this like a murder investigation.”

I think Eve was just as grateful to change the subject as I was. She grinned. “Now you’re talking, girlfriend! Where do we start?”

“At the scene of the crime.” I made a wide gesture to include the entire shop. “When I walked in, Greg was lying right…” I went to the spot. The floor was still damp and I didn’t want to take the chance of marking it with my shoe prints so I skirted the edges of the wet spot and pointed into the center of it. “Right there. And Tyler said that Monsieur’s phone call was muffled.” I looked around. From where I stood, I couldn’t see much. Rents in Arlington are at an all-time high and shop space is at a premium. Like most retailers in the area, Monsieur had learned to maximize his square footage.

Directly in front of me was the counter and the cash register, but as I mentioned, even the space behind it wasn’t wasted. Cubby after cubby featured some speciality cooking item. To my left was the big front window where, once the cleaners were done, I’d have to set up some sort of display. Behind me was a wall of shelves made from glowing oak where gadgets were displayed alongside most of the other, smaller items the store sold: knives and corkscrews and ready-to-cook mixes for everything from southern food specialties like corn bread to soups the likes of which never came in the cans I bought at the grocery store.

To my right were the aisles that led to the back of the store. There were four altogether, and they were packed with merchandise. From where I stood-from where Greg must have been standing when he was killed-there was only one aisle with anything like a clear line of vision to the back of the store. It was the aisle that led straight to the room that doubled as Monsieur’s office and stockroom.

I stabbed a finger in that direction. “That’s the only place he could have been and seen anything,” I told Eve, and I didn’t have to explain. She started down the aisle and toward the back of the store even before I did, and waited for me to catch up outside the office door.

“We’re not going to find anything,” I said, just so I didn’t get any crazy notions about clues that had been overlooked or mysterious messages only we could understand. “The cops have been all over this place. If there was any evidence in there, they already found it. Of course”-I grinned-“that’s not going to keep us from looking.” I stepped into the office.

Like the rest of Très Bonne Cuisine, the room was well planned and tastefully decorated. It was a nice size, maybe fifteen feet long and half as wide, with two doors leading into it, the one we’d entered directly from the store and another on the wall to our left that led to a small entryway and the back door. A counter ran along the far wall. There were shelves above it and plenty of elbow room. I wasn’t sure exactly how Monsieur used the space, but as long as I was working there, I knew it would be perfect for checking in and pricing merchandise. On the wall just to the right of the door was a copier and next to that, a coffeemaker, one of those dorm-sized refrigerators, and a small microwave. On the other side of the doorway was a desk that contained a laminator, a computer, and a phone. It was all pretty standard.