Diane Davidson - Chopping Spree

“It’s Goldy,” I began. “Please don’t hang up. I really need to talk to you—”

“I can’t talk.” She was whispering. “There are two men here from the sheriff’s department, and they want me to come in for questioning. You see, this private investigator I hired called them from the airport when he saw the headlines this morning. The headlines about Barry .” Her voice trembled. “That bastard private eye, Rufus, told the cops I was having Barry followed. He told them all about Barry and me, and why I was having him tailed, and now Barry, the man I thought was going to marry me, has been killed—”

The line went dead. I imagined Detective Sawyer, hovering like Uriah Heep, pressing the dial-tone button while poor, wretched Ellie sought comfort from a friend. Doggone it.

John Rufus had called the sheriff’s department from the airport? I imagined a man in a trenchcoat, reading the newspaper while waiting for his jet to Capetown, then making a beeline for a pay phone. Probably private investigators were like doctors and shrinks, that is, if they had information that might shed light on a crime, they had to share it. But why couldn’t he stay in this country and help out a bit? Yet another question occurred to me. Was it possible John Rufus had been in Prince & Grogan last night, and seen who stabbed Barry? If so, would he have told the cops that ? I grabbed the phone and left another message for Tom.

I cleaned up the kitchen. Then I went back to my file.

Find out if Private Investigator Rufus was in the department store , I typed. Find out what Ellie knows. Find out if Rufus told the cops anything that could help Julian. Did B.D. have another girlfriend, say, Pam Disharoon? If so, how jealous was she? For that matter, just how jealous was Ellie? Why did Barry lie about a meeting, and go to the bank instead? Why did he say he was skiing, and then hustle off to the doctor?

And most importantly: Is there any information that can clear Julian?

The quiche emerged puffed and golden brown. I cut myself an enormous slice and smiled after the first bite. The bacon gave the pie a lovely crunch, the Gruyère added tang and substance, and the eggs and cream gave the whole mélange a texture like velvet. I awarded myself points for concocting such a dish in the midst of stress. Next time, I would omit the bacon, and make one for vegetarian Julian when he got out of jail. With remarkable discipline, I dutifully carried a newly tossed salad, warmed baguettes, and the rest of the quiche to my next-door neighbor, Trudy. She swooned with joy and complimented me extravagantly. I actually felt happy for the first time in twelve hours.

Back at home, my answering machine was blinking. I had three messages. Murphy’s law of answering machines: Leave the house for less than ten minutes? You’re going to miss your calls.

The first was from Tom. His reassuring voice warmed me, but what he had to say turned my blood to ice. The cameras in the lounge had recorded Barry schmoozing with a number of guests, first Ellie, then several others, including Pam Disharoon. Unfortunately, the tapes also showed that Julian had had not one, but two squabbles with Barry. And by the way, none of the cameras captured my knife being transported in or out of the kitchenette. Except for the eight cameras focused on the display cases, there had been only two others, and they had recorded nothing regarding the murder weapon. The only tape the cops hadn’t checked was the one from the roving videographer; the detectives were tracking that fellow down now.

The cameras on either end of the P & G shoe department, Tom went on, were focused on the cash registers to keep tabs on the employees, and the chairs and couches, where women might be tempted to slip a pair of shoes into another shopping bag. No camera had been focused on the cabinets by the wall. Moreover, with the way the cabinets had been placed, there had been enough room behind them for a person to hide while I was struggling to help Barry. In any event, no videotape showed the murder, me coming in, or Julian finding us.

Tom concluded by saying he was hoping that his friends in the department would continue to share information with him. That data-sharing would dry up instantly, however, if Julian flunked the second lie-detector test.

The next message was short and bittersweet. It was from Liz Fury.

“Goldy, I’m hoping you’re OK. The Grigsons just started their wedding ceremony. Everything looks good for the setup, food, service. I added six dozen frozen spinach appetizers, by the way, from my freezer. Don’t know if Tom told you I got two of my former staffers to help.” She paused. “I, um, really hope you’re feeling better.” Her voice became apologetic. “Goldy, I’m sorry I ever introduced Teddy to Julian. I just thought if Teddy could have a role model, a strong kid like Julian, that he might want to try to turn his life around. I had no idea that Julian would turn violent toward Barry.”

“Oh, shut up,” I muttered.

“And,” Liz went on, “I certainly didn’t think that with all those people there, Barry would order Teddy to be escorted from the mall, especially since he was just looking for me.” She let out a harsh laugh. “If you can imagine, the cops wanted to know where I was while Barry was getting himself stabbed. I told them I was looking for my son. After being dragged forcibly out of the mall, he’d gone to his usual haunt, the nearest McDonald’s. That’s where I found him. Look, I have to go. Let’s talk when you feel better.”

Or even sooner, I thought grimly, as I pressed the button for the final message. Lo and behold, the husky voice of Ellie McNeely burned through the wire. Her tone was of someone trying to get a grip on a situation spiraling out of control, and failing.

“Goldy. I’m…at the sheriff’s department. Sorry we were interrupted. Do you… did you know…is it true that Julian saw …”She snuffled. “Did you know anything about what the cops found in that runaway dump truck? They were… They were supposed to be a gift… besides, I was having a facial wrap, and I don’t even know how to drive a damn truck ! I—”

And then the message ended.

Had Ellie once again been cut off? Or had she lost her nerve? No matter what, I now knew another data nugget: That Ellie McNeely had knowledge of the cuff links. So Ellie and I needed to have an extended chat.

It was almost one o’clock. I typed the contents of all three messages into my new “Barry Dean” file, reread the entire file, and created a list of places I wanted to visit or call, with questions. Rufus Investigations, or somebody who has access to their data. Ellie McNeely. Westside Mall—Barry’s office. Barry’s coworkers. Would Barry’s colleagues be helpful, or as difficult to deal with as everyone else in this case? I knew there was an assistant manager for the mall, but I had no idea what his name was. Find out what Barry was being so secretive about. Why had he wanted to talk to me right away, then changed his mind after the truck incident? And why was he taking painkillers?

I imagined Hulsey reading this file, and becoming apopleptic.

I thought of the Vicodin in the freezer and frowned. Not only was I, by keeping something from the crime scene, engaging in evidence-tampering, I was also guilty of possession of a controlled substance without a prescription. There seemed to be many things I needed to avoid telling Hulsey, as well as Tom. My breaking the law would make them both apopleptic. I wondered if the medical examiner would find narcotics in Barry’s bloodstream.