Ник Сайнт: Purrfect Heat

“And then tear them down,” Odelia said, remembering some snippets from Kitchen Disasters . The man was unrelenting and brutal. She wondered what had induced the Stowes to feature on his show. Then again, any publicity was good publicity, probably. She wasn’t a marketing expert, but being on TV was probably the best way of getting your name out there.

They’d arrived at the restaurant, which was on Norfolk Street, and her uncle parked across the street. Uniformed officers were blocking anyone from entering the restaurant, and were keeping onlookers at bay.

“Did you let your cats out, Odelia?” asked her uncle, locking eyes with her through the rearview mirror.

“I’ve got a pet door,” she said. “They come and go as they please.”

“Good,” he said with a nod.

“I didn’t know you were so concerned about cats, Chief?” asked Chase, surprised.

The Chief shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a softie at heart.”

But Odelia knew why he’d asked. Unlike Chase, her uncle knew the secret of her sleuthing success. She had two assistants working for her, scouring the streets for clues: Max and Dooley. Cats are everywhere, and since people rarely hold back in front of them, they harbor a lot of secrets, and don’t mind sharing those secrets with other cats… like Max and Dooley.

They crossed the street. Chase and her uncle went in to check the crime scene and talk to the coroner. She stayed behind. She’d spotted what she assumed were the owners of the restaurant, and decided to have a chat.

Brainard Stowe was a stout man with a comb-over, who stood nervously hopping from one leg to the other while an officer took the couple’s statement. His wife Isabella was the motherly type, and reminded Odelia of her own mother. She was round with a kind face and overly large glasses, and was dressed in a floral print dress that seemed ill-fitted to keep her ample curves in check. She and her husband looked like they’d been rudely awakened, had put on the first thing they found, and had rushed over.

She waited patiently until the couple had given their statement, and approached them with a friendly smile. “Hi. My name is Odelia Poole. I’m a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette and a civilian consultant with the Hampton Cove Police Department. Can you tell me what happened?”

The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, and it was obvious she’d been crying. Her husband, on the other hand, appeared incensed for some reason.

“I know who you are,” Isabella said. “I love your articles, Miss Poole.”

“I can’t believe this,” Brainard said. “When are they going to let us in?”

“Not until the crime scene has been thoroughly examined and the coroner has taken away the body,” I said.

His eyes shifted to me. “You’re Chief Alec’s niece, aren’t you? Can’t you ask him when I can reopen my restaurant?”

“You can ask him yourself, honey,” said his wife. “I’m sure he’ll want to talk to us once he’s through in there.”

“I hope they’re not going to close us down for a week,” he grumbled. “Something like this can wreck a business. And I know a thing or two about wrecking a business.”

Isabella smiled nervously. “I’m sure Miss Poole doesn’t want to know about all of that, honey,” she said, placing a warning hand on his arm.

“Mh? Oh. Right,” he said, realizing he wasn’t talking to himself.

“Is it true that Niklaus Skad was filming his show Kitchen Disasters in your restaurant?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Isabella. “We made the arrangements last fall, and filming had just started a couple of days ago.”

“And how would you describe the experience?”

Brainard frowned. “Rotten. I wish we’d never agreed to do his damn show.” Isabella put her hand on his arm again but he shook it off. “And I don’t care who knows it. You can print this on your front page for all I care. Niklaus Skad was a horrible human being who got off on hurting others. A failed and bitter restaurateur who took out his rancor on other, more successful business owners. He bullied our chef, he bullied our staff, he bullied us, heck, he even bullied our cat! The man was a well-dressed thug!”

“I hope you’re not going to write that in your article, Miss Poole,” Isabella said. “Brainard is overwrought. He doesn’t mean what he says.”

“I mean every word! I think whoever killed the man deserves a medal!”

“Keep your voice down,” Isabella hissed. “The police are here.”

“They know we didn’t do it,” said Brainard. “How could we? We were…” His pale blue eyes shifted to me again, and he promptly clamped his mouth shut.

“Yes?” I prompted. “You were…”

“We were home last night,” said Isabella. “All night.”

“Can anyone vouch for you?” I asked. “I mean, I’m sure my uncle will want to know.”

Husband and wife shared a quick glance, then Isabella produced a nervous giggle. “I—we—well, the thing is…”

“You don’t have to tell her,” Brainard said. “There’s such a thing as privacy in this country. There are laws and stuff.”

“Privacy is the first thing that goes out the window when a dead body is found stuffed in the oven of your kitchen,” Isabella said stiffly. She nodded. “The police are going to find out anyway. They’re going to go through our personal affairs with a fine-tooth comb and if we don’t get an expensive lawyer we might even be charged with murder.”

“Nonsense. We didn’t do it and we can prove it.”

She gave him a gentle shove. “Go on, then. Tell her. It’s not like it’s anything to be ashamed of.”

He stared at me, his lips a thin line. Finally, he burst out, “Very well, then. We were playing with our Echo.”

This wasn’t what she’d expected, so she raised an eyebrow. “Echo?”

“The Amazon gadget? You can ask it anything,” Isabella said.

“Yeah, it’s way cool. You can ask Alexa what the weather will be like, or to play a certain song, or to turn on the heating. Anything. It’s fun.”

“Who’s Alexa?” she asked, still not following.

“She’s the voice of the Echo,” said Isabella.

“Like Apple has Siri?” Brainard added. He frowned. “I wonder why they’re both women’s voices.”

“Women just have nicer voices,” said Isabella.

“I’m sure that’s not the reason.”

“And I’m sure that it is.”

“Um… How is this Echo thing providing you with an alibi?” Odelia asked.

“See, Brainard? Miss Poole is smart as a whip.” She nudged him. “You tell her.”

“No, you tell her. It was your idea, after all.”

Isabella hooked her arm through her husband’s and bit her lip. “The thing is… we were asking Alexa for… advice.”

“Sexy positions,” Brainard said gruffly, practicing his thousand-yard stare.

“And ordering sexy things online,” his wife added.

“Spice up our love life. You should give it a try sometime, missy.”

“Oh, I’m sure Miss Poole doesn’t need her love life spiced up,” Isabella said. She gave Odelia a smile. “When you’re married for as long as we’ve been, you need all the spicing up you can get. You understand.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, a little flustered. “Yeah, I get it. Of course.”

“And the good thing is that the police can check with Amazon. Everything you do on the Echo is recorded. So they can hear what we were up to.”

“They can?” asked Brainard, his eyebrows rising precipitously.

“Oh, yes,” she said, reddening slightly.

“Oh, my.”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh.

“Everything?”

“Every sound we made, honey.”

“Oh, my God.”

She bit her lip again. “So there you have it, Miss Poole. That’s our alibi.”