Miranda Bliss - Dying for Dinner

“Oh, I don’t think he’s staying at either of those places,” I said, and since I’m not really much of a liar, I left it at that. “I only hope that I can handle things for him while he’s gone.”

“You’re off to a good start. Only, when you talk to him, tell him his regular customers are worried about him and anxious to have him back. Not that I don’t trust you!” His smile was genuine. “But I always appreciate Jacques’ recommendations and his advice.” Before I could wonder who in their right mind would spend twenty-two dollars for two dish towels and ten bucks apiece for pot holders, the man pulled out his wallet, paid for his purchases in cash, and left.

He was barely out the door when Eve walked in.

“Lunch can’t be over at Bellywasher’s!” I said, but when I glanced at the clock, I realized it was. That’s how fast the morning and the early afternoon had sped by.

“Thought you might need some moral support of the good old chocolate kind.” Eve handed me a small white bag and I didn’t have to peek inside to know what it was. I could smell the heavenly aroma of Jim’s flourless chocolate cake. There were dishes and silverware in Monsieur’s office, and while she stayed up front to help the customers who’d just finished picking out their purchases, I went back and got them. The cake was supposed to be a single-sized serving, but I sliced it in half and put a hunk on each of our plates. Even at a half portion, we were flirting with caloric overload. I, for one, was willing to chance it.

When I got back up front, I saw that the customers were taking full advantage of the sale on Vavoom! One lady bought three jars. The man in back of her in line was thrilled by this first-time-ever sale on the product he claimed he couldn’t live without; he promptly asked Eve to put four in his bag. As soon as she was finished with them and the customers were out the door, Eve got down to business.

“Here’s what I don’t get.” She made herself at home behind the front counter. I stayed on the other side of it. “I mean, when you called last night and told me you’d run into Peter at that card game…” She took a bite of cake and rolled her eyes in a Man, this is the best thing since sliced bread sort of way. “It’s no wonder you’re crazy about the boy.”

I knew she was talking about Jim, not Peter. “He was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.” I was talking about Peter, not Jim. I took a bite of cake and grinned, both at the taste and at the memory of the look of shock on Peter’s face when he opened the door of Guy Paloma’s house and found me on the front porch. “Imagine, he’d just gotten there for the card game and he was closest to the door. So when I rang the bell, he just naturally answered it.”

Eve made a face. “I can’t picture Peter playing poker. He’s not that-”

“Daring?” With a nod, I agreed. “He sure never was back when I was married to him. He said he started playing after our divorce. I guess it was all part of the new, cooler, expensive-aftershave-wearing Peter he became to satisfy Mindy. Or is it Mandy? Anyway, as it turned out, it was perfect that he was there. I was able to talk to him and find out about that card game last week. You remember, the one Greg won. The one I tried to tell you all about yesterday, only you didn’t give me a chance.”

I looked at Eve hard when I said this. Too bad she was busy looking at her chocolate cake. She didn’t see that I was leaning forward just a bit, my eyebrows raised, waiting for her to explain herself.

When she didn’t, I had no choice but to call her on the carpet. “You remember, Eve. We were on the phone together. We were talking. The way best friends-and fellow investigators-do. But then your phone beeped because you had another call coming in. And even though you told me to hold, you never came back on the line.”

“Technical difficulties.” Eve finished the last of her cake and licked her fork clean. “It happens.”

“So I hear.” I wasn’t buying it, but, hey, who was I to criticize? If Eve dropped my call because she was talking to Tyler (and I’d bet a lifetime supply of Vavoom! that she was), I’d spent part of the evening with my ex. I guess that made us even.

“Peter was at last week’s game, too,” I said. “When I asked about what Len Dean had said… you know, about how Greg was the big winner and someone was the big loser and I wondered if the big loser was also a sore loser… well, Peter just laughed.”

“It wasn’t him, was it? Oh, my gosh!” Beneath their dusting of Precious Posy blush, Eve’s cheeks paled. “Oh, Annie, I always knew he was a first-class weasel.

Greg won all Peter’s money and then Peter…” She swallowed hard. “He had no choice. I mean, he had his honor to think about. And what was he going to tell Mindy/Mandy when he came home with no money? You said he was teaching summer school this year. He must be desperate. I mean, who wouldn’t be with huge gambling debts? He needed vengeance. That’s why Peter came in here and-”

“Peter did not kill Greg.”

“Oh.” Eve frowned. “I was sort of hoping he did. Wouldn’t it be fun to see him behind bars?”

Maybe.

“That’s beside the point,” I said because the thought of Peter in an orange jumpsuit was far more appealing than it should have been. “I asked, you know, in a roundabout kind of way. I asked Peter what he’d been doing Monday evening when the murder went down. He told me he was at a faculty meeting. You know, about summer classes.”

“But he could have lied about it.”

“He could have. He didn’t. Peter was never much of a liar. Even after he met what’s-her-name. He never lied about cheating, just came right out and told me about it. Besides, I called the school and checked. There really was a meeting that night. Peter really was there.” We were getting so far off track, I wasn’t even sure where we were headed anymore. I finished my cake, cleaned up the plates, and took them to the back room. When I’d put on a pot of coffee that morning, I’d realized there were perks (pun intended) to my job at Très Bonne Cuisine. Monsieur kept a personal supply of expensive Jamaican coffee on hand. It was leagues better than the off-brand stuff I bought at the grocery store, and I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about using it. After all, I was minding the shop.

I made a fresh pot and, while it was brewing, I found a big earthenware mug for myself and I got out a matching one for Eve. I filled hers, then mine, and since there wasn’t anyone in the shop at the moment, I sat down at Monsieur’s desk.

“Peter told me that another one of the players was the big loser last week. A football coach named Bill DiSantis.”

Eve nodded. “And Bill is the killer.”

“Bill lost twelve dollars and fifty cents.”

“Huh?” She set down her mug, the better to prop her fists on her hips so she could quiz me. “What on earth are you saying, Annie? Are you serious? This Bill character killed Greg over twelve dollars and fifty cents? That’s sick. It’s twisted. It’s-”

“Bill didn’t kill Greg, Eve. Don’t you get it? When Len told me that Bill was the big loser, he didn’t bother to mention that in their game, twelve dollars and fifty cents is high stakes. It’s penny-ante poker. That’s one of the biggest pots they ever had. That’s why Bill made a big deal about Greg cheating. Peter introduced me to Bill. He’s a regular kind of guy, and I don’t think he’d hold a grudge, not over twelve dollars. Heck, that’s what a jar of Vavoom! used to cost.”

“So Bill didn’t kill Greg?”

“You got that right.”

“Then who did?”

The bell on the front door sounded. “I wish I knew,” I said, hurrying to the front of the shop. “Really, Eve, I wish I knew.”