Diane Davidson - The Grilling Season

“Some cases have surprises. It’s the nature of the work. “

“Maybe so, but I need to know the surprises in this case before Arch does.”

He sighed. I slathered slices of zucchini with a mixture of olive oil and minced garlic. When I laid the glistening wedges on the heated grill, Tom pushed his empty bowl aside.

“All right. Near as they can figure, Suz Craig died between three and five this morning. Rigor hadn’t set in when the medics arrived, which is one of the reasons they tried to revive her. There are signs of a struggle in her house, pots and pans strewn about in the kitchen. The guys are out doing a neighborhood canvass asking questions, but so far there’s very little.”

“Two policewomen were over here.” “Beiner and Irving. They’re good.” His sandy eyebrows rose. “There was more vandalism in the country club sometime during the night. Looks like kids painting street signs and fences again, but who knows? One possibility is that Suz surprised the vandals somehow, and they killed her. On the other hand, only the club’s walls and a few street signs were spray-painted last night. We thought we were dealing with late-at-night vandals, but we may be dealing with early-morning ones. Of course, that wouldn’t explain why her kitchen pans were on the floor. Or why she died clutching a gold ID bracelet that said ‘To JRK: You’re the best. Love, SC.’ ” He took a deep breath. “Korman, of course, is claiming someone stole his bracelet. He also says he left her house between midnight and one o’clock, after they had that little disagreement you were referring to.”

I removed the grilled zucchini slices with their lovely diagonal dark stripes, then placed them in a separate, lightly oiled pan to finish in the oven. “Little disagreement, my Aunt Fanny. John Richard will drink and argue for hours. Sometimes he loses his temper right away, sometimes he waits, especially if he’s trying to get something out of you. Like a bonus, say.” I slipped the pan into the oven. The air was wonderfully fragrant. “I think he just snapped. Beat the daylights out of her, then had no idea she’d walk out of her house and go looking for help. That’s my theory, anyway.”

Tom shrugged. “He’s been unwavering on the leaving-at-one story. But even if he did leave after assaulting her, if she walked out of her house and died from falling into that ditch, he’s still our man.”

“Tom, if there’s something I know well, it’s that John Richard lies. He lies so much it’s exhausting to try to untangle what he says. This morning, when I saw those roses in his hand, I thought: This is one of his lies. It just comes naturally to him. I used to try to figure out why he lied. I thought it was because his mother was an alcoholic or because of the trouble with his father. But that’s no excuse. He’s still a pathological liar.”

Tom actually chuckled. “Yeah, Miss G., they usually are.” He pushed his chair out from the table. “How about a hug for a hardworking cop?”

I smiled and dumped the mushrooms on the hot grill, where they made a delicious hissing sound. Then Tom pulled me into his lap for a marvelous, tight embrace.

“Captain called me in for a heart-to-heart,” he murmured into my ear. “They’re appointing a district attorney’s investigator to head the case. But I’m not officially off the homicide investigation. I’m just behind the scenes. Can’t go anywhere or interrogate anyone or gather any evidence unless I take somebody with me. That’s how they avoid conflict of interest.”

“I thought you hated that D.A.‘s investigator. He’s always mooching food. What’s his name?”

“Donny Saunders. The laziest guy in a four-state area. And arrogant on top of that.” He sighed. “Better go get those mushrooms before they burn.”

I jumped up and scooped the mushrooms into a large bowl, then placed golden ears of corn and thick, glistening onion slices on the grill. They hissed and sputtered and filled the kitchen with a divine scent. I flipped the slices and rotated the corn so the kernels browned evenly. When I was removing these, I felt Tom’s arms gently circling my waist.

“I’m cooking,” I reminded him as I turned off the burners.”

He nuzzled my cheek and whispered, Looks to me like you’re almost done. And I’m not hearing Arch, Macguire, and Jake. Can that possibly mean we have the house to ourselves for one brief moment?”

I tried to suppress a smile. I couldn’t. “Actually, it does.”

He took my hand and we walked wordlessly up the stairs. The bedsheets were cool and inviting. As we began to make love, a warm, gentle summer breeze filled the lace curtains, like a woman’s skirt being lifted.

“I love you,” I said afterward.

He turned his handsome, wide face to me and smiled. “I love you, too.”

“And in case reading ID bracelets has put any doubt in your mind,” I added, “you’re the best.”

9

Tom kissed me and said that unless I needed him, he was going to catch up on his sleep. I told him to nap away, I still had tons of work to do. Then I tiptoed down the stairs and took the chilled bag of tuna fillets out of the walk-in refrigerator just as the boys traipsed back into the kitchen with Jake. While Arch diligently ran water and plopped ice cubes into a bowl for his bloodhound, Macguire slouched with a gusty, exhausted sigh into one of the chairs. He put his head in his hands and groaned. I ran the water to rinse the fish. I was waiting for Macguire to say, at long last, that he was hungry. He didn’t.

“I should go back to bed,” he said after another guttural moan. “I’m so tired. Can you do this bash without me?” When I told him I could, he turned to Arch. “Buddy? Thanks for the walk. Sorry we couldn’t get over to your dad’s office. I’m trashed now, need to hit the sack.”

Arch nodded and poured himself a glass of pink lemonade.

“Macguire,” I attempted, “please, can I fix you a little something to eat – “

He waved this away and put his head in his hands again, apparently too weary to climb the stairs to his room. I placed the first tuna fillets in a glass pan. Unfortunately, at that moment Murphy’s law of telephones kicked in and my business line rang. I begged Arch to answer it so I wouldn’t slime the receiver with fish juice. He gave me a world-weary look that immediately changed to one of concern when he realized who was on the other end of the line.

“Oh! Dad! How are you doing? Can I come see you?”

I swallowed hard. Macguire blinked and then blinked again, his expression turning quickly from fatigue to interest. I patted the fillets dry, then washed my hands, trying to decide what to do. Grab the phone from Arch? Write him a note to let me talk? Did I really want to speak to the Jerk? I viciously ground pepper over the fish. But it was too early to marinate the fillets. I dithered, stamped from foot to foot while trying to catch Arch’s eye, then snapped plastic wrap over the fish.

“Oh, Dad, I’m so glad you called me. Wow, I’m sorry you have to … Oh, that sounds awful! Gosh, I can’t believe…”

Saturday, just past noon-less than five hours since the arrest. John Richard had been processed; was he calling me or his son? Had he talked to his lawyer? Why call here? Unfortunately, despite my feelings on the subject, I could not prevent Arch from talking to his father.

“Where’s Tom?” Macguire whispered as I forced myself to turn my back on Arch and glare at the menu. I was not going to listen to the conversation. No matter what the Jerk was up to, I still had to ; finish my next catering task.

I said, “Tom’s asleep.”

Still the earnest whisper from Macguire. “You should wake him up. He should know – “

“Macguire. If John Richard Korman wants to talk to me, he would have demanded to do so. That’s the way he is. But he called our son. They have a right to talk. And as a witness, I can’t talk to him.”