Diane Davidson - Chopping Spree

“Don’t worry,” Tom reassured me. “Jorge’s lawyer got the INS deal he wanted, and both Jorge and Raoul are cooperating fully in the investigation.”

“Raoul and Jorge,” I murmured. “Two siblings who really care about each other.”

“Oh! And speaking of siblings! Kim Fury finally called. Apologized profusely for not getting back earlier, but she had gone out looking for her brother, whom she still seems to be constantly ticked off at. But at least she found him. Teddy wasn’t holed up studying quantum mechanics, either, sorry to say, or doing volunteer work in the ghetto. But they’re probably going to close the strip bar where he’d been living in the basement.”

“Ah.” I frowned at the dregs in my demitasse. “What was Teddy doing there?”

“Busboy. Got free rent and meals, made good tips, and he got to see the shows for free.” He perused his cake recipe and began assembling ingredients.

“All right,” I said finally. “Before we get into the whole Pam and Page thing, tell me why Barry didn’t just fire Victor when he discovered what he was doing.”

Tom turned to me. “Goldy, you yourself gave us the answer to that. First of all, as mall manager, Barry didn’t have the power to fire Victor. Pennybaker International would have had to do that. And why didn’t Barry contact Pennybaker?”

“Because he was afraid of negative publicity,” I answered grimly. “Because he was afraid all his borderline-legal antics with giving the vendors’ goods away would be discovered. Because if Pennybaker swooped in with their analysts and managers, Barry would be blamed, somehow, for the delay in the mall construction. Maybe they’d discover he was blackmailing Shane Stockham over the rent issue. And… maybe they’d even get wind of his affair with Pam Disharoon. So Barry figured, ‘I’ll hire my old college pal Goldy, the caterer who solves crimes. She’ll help me to find out what happened to Lucas No-toe Holden.’”

“You did great on this,” Tom reassured me. “The guys did check out those alibis for Ellie and Page, by the way. The women did go straight home, Ellie with Mrs. Harrington, Page in Shane’s car. Shane called a former employee of The Gadget Guy to drive him back up to the Stockham place. He didn’t want to risk driving with his wife after they’d almost killed each other at the party. Oh… and our guy who checked out Page’s alibi also asked her about all those suspicious shoes. Page never saw Barry in the shoe department. She said she bought so much footwear because that was the best way to get revenge on her stingy old husband.”

I shook my head. Tom folded sifted cocoa and sugar into the melted butter and chocolate mixture, then folded in yolks, then creamy, beaten whites. Even as much as my neck now was beginning to ache, I had to appreciate his skill. Tom regarded me with concern. “You look like you’re in pain.”

“I’ve had worse pain, please don’t worry,” I assured him.

He scraped the bowl’s luscious dark contents into a springform pan and slipped the pan into the oven. Then he came over and murmured, “Let me rub where it hurts.”

Tom’s warm hands eased along my upper back. Meanwhile, because it was not a catering day and because Tom had sworn to disinfect the kitchen over the weekend, the dogs were enjoying an unusual foray into the kitchen. Jake the bloodhound and Latte the basset hound pressed in next to me for pats. Like Tom, they also appeared worried about me. Scout the cat, however, was still in hiding. And someone else was missing, too.

“You know what’s bothering me most,” I said. “Julian—”

“OK, look. Hulsey told me to tell you that neither of us should go down to the jail. It’s an embarrassing situation for his firm, and they don’t want you or me around just yet.”

“Bad publicity?”

“You bet,” Tom replied. “Hulsey, Jones, Macauley and Wilson is the best-known criminal defense firm in the state. One partner represents a murder case’s initial suspect, you. Then he works with a second suspect, Julian Teller. Later, when a much more credible suspect gets apprehended and hit in the groin by a cop’s wife”—I shrugged modestly—“and it turns out the guy now hitting the high notes is the brother of the Wilson in Hulsey, Jones, Macauley and Wilson, they’ve got a damage-control problem on their hands. They’re worried sick the press will be all over them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. Another sibling problem.

“Julian will be all right,” Tom reassured me. “And there’s something else,” he added. “Minor by comparison to all this. Shane Stockham called. Before he could say why he was phoning, I blasted him on his claims about the payoffs to Barry on the rent issue. I told Stockham if he didn’t tell me the truth, he’d go straight to jail. Scared the guy to death. He admitted Barry hadn’t demanded anything from him. He just made that up so he wouldn’t be blamed for holding back on his rent. His lawyer was already dealing with Pennybaker.”

“You must have put the fear of God into him.”

“That’s my job. Anyway, Shane turned all ingratiating after his admission, as if he were the best friend a cop could ever hope to have. He also said he signed up all the investors he wanted. He really needs to get some ring back from you, though. He’ll exchange it for the check he owes you.” Tom stopped his wonderful massage. “A ruby, sapphire, and diamond ring? Please, please, Miss G.—tell me it’s not stolen. ”

I laughed, then promised him I would call Shane. At that moment, the doorbell rang, and the dogs went berserk.

A moment later, Tom was ushering in Ellie McNeely. I tried not to look disappointed that it wasn’t Julian. Ellie was carrying a handsome flower arrangement of dark blue iris, daffodils, and white stock, set not in a basket, but on a base topped with a… lacrosse helmet?

“It’s for Arch,” she said, her tone apologetic. “For his birthday. I told the florist I needed the most masculine thing possible, with a lacrosse theme.”

“They’re gorgeous,” I said, deeply touched.

“Oh,” she added, pulling an envelope out of her pocket, “and here’s an Abercrombie and Fitch gift certificate for him, too, just so he won’t think I’m totally square.”

“This is so unnecessary, Ellie.”

“Goldy,” she said earnestly, “I didn’t really come here because of Arch’s birthday. I came because I wanted to thank you, because I needed to thank you.” Before I could protest and say, It’s nothing , she hurried on: “You found out what happened to Barry, and got half choked to death in the process, I heard. You’ve been great.”

We invited her into the kitchen, where we all had more espresso and kept watch over the cake through the oven window. At length, Arch, clad in the sweatsuit he’d slept in, made one of his silent floating appearances.

“It’s the Birthday B—!” I stopped instantly when I registered my son’s threatening countenance. Laboriously, I got to my feet and shuffled in his direction, hoping for a birthday hug.

“Mom, don’t.” Arch drew back and gave me a pained look: Can’t you ever treat me as if I were older than three? “What’s that?” he asked, frowning at the flowers.

“They’re from Mrs. McNeely,” I said. “They’re for you. For your birthday.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and nodded in Ellie’s direction. “Thanks a lot.” He looked from Tom to me. “So my party’s going to be now? Is Julian out yet?”

“Don’t know,” said Tom. “But breakfast definitely won’t be the end of today’s partying.”

“They really are nice flowers,” Arch said to Ellie, with a sincere smile and brief nod.