Death of a Bean Counter, page 12
‘Actually he did, come to think of it,’ Amy said. ‘As we were driving back to his house. Casual-like and I didn’t think too much about it, other than registering that I really needed to level with him.’
‘Level with him?’ Sarah asked.
‘Tell him that I couldn’t marry him, I mean. Before he did more than buy the ring.’
‘And orchestrate a three-ring circus at the restau—’ I broke off as my phone buzzed a text message.
Mom! Coolest thing! I read from Eric.
‘Something important?’ Amy asked as I set it down. She was probably hoping she could slip out and avoid further conversation.
‘It can wait. Eric is doing an ancestry project and all these DNA relatives keep popping up. He probably has us traced back to Christopher Columbus or something.’
Another buzz. Really! You won’t believe the coincidence.
‘Anyway,’ I said, sliding the phone away, ‘I’d steer clear of Jacque for now. I know you—’
Another buzz. We have a cousin like twice removed right in Brookhills. Did you know that?
I didn’t, but then I wasn’t even sure what twice removed meant.
‘Sorry,’ I told Amy and Sarah, and texted back, No, but I’ll call you later.
Amy was already standing and untying her apron as I finished. ‘Would you two mind finishing up? I really need to talk to Jacque.’
‘But I just said you shouldn’t—’ Before I could finish the sentence Amy was out the door.
‘She doesn’t listen to me,’ I told Sarah, who was re-wiping the table.
‘Why should she?’ Sarah was now moving toward the vacuum cleaner. ‘She’s our employee, not our kid.’
My kid didn’t listen to me either, half the time. ‘Our employee just left us here to finish her job.’
‘I know,’ Sarah said, picking up the vacuum hose. ‘I’ve got this.’
‘Meaning I should go’ – the vacuum roared to life – ‘balance the register.’
Perhaps inspired by Jacque making dinner for Amy, I stopped at Schultz’s for something to cook for Pavlik. Though I have to admit to an ulterior motive – a possible opportunity to talk to our cashier/videographer/stoolie, Becky.
My culinary talents lie more to pulling out the crusty bread and artisanal cheese or, in extreme circumstances, crackers and aerosol cheese, but I thought tossing a couple of steaks on the grill and a salad in a bowl might not be beyond me.
I had two steaks, a plastic box of mixed salad greens and a bottle of Lite Vinaigrette dressing when I spied Becky at one of the two open cash registers. I got in line.
The long-time cashier was about eighty and shaped like an egg. Her hair was an unnatural shade of mahogany above a pink-tinged face. ‘For God’s sake,’ she was saying to the man two people in front of me. ‘You really want a bag? Man up and save a tree.’
‘But it’s a bottle of bourbon,’ the guy protested. ‘I don’t want to walk down the street carrying a bottle of booze.’
‘And putting it in a brown paper bag will fool people,’ she said, handing him his cash register receipt and nothing but the cash register receipt. ‘Next.’
A tap on my shoulder. ‘The fifteen-item or less lane is open,’ the woman behind me said.
‘I’m fine,’ I said.
‘But there’s nobody there. The cashier is waving for you to come over.’
‘I want this cashier.’
‘Any time.’ Now Becky was chiding the next customer hurriedly unloading her cart onto the belt. ‘We got all night.’
‘So you’re just a masochist?’
I turned to look back – and up – at a tall redhead, Laurel Birmingham. ‘Geez, Laurel, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.’
Our town clerk shrugged. ‘I figured you must be on a mission. Who’s getting grilled tonight?’ She nodded to the steaks. ‘Besides the rib-eyes.’
I grinned. ‘Becky. Do you want to go in front of me?’
‘And miss it? Not on your life. Is this about Kip Fargo?’
‘How did you know?’
‘Come on. Brookhills is a small town and our murders usually come one at a time. It’s easy to keep up.’
Very true. ‘I’m glad I ran into you. I was over at the Fargo house.’
‘Isn’t it a gem?’ Laurel said. ‘I can’t believe what Kip Fargo was doing to it. Hopefully his kids – or whoever he left it to – will have some architectural integrity.’
‘Then it is a Frank Lloyd Wright?’
Laurel pushed the nose of her shopping cart to one side and joined me in front of it. ‘Honestly? I don’t know. Any original records the town had were lost when the town hall and fire department burned down.’
‘And the Fargos don’t have the original plans?’
Laurel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Not that they’ve been willing to share. From what I understand Kip’s grandfather built the house and the family’s stance ever since has been that it’s theirs to do with as they want.’
‘Then Kip just followed the family tradition?’
Laurel waggled her head. ‘Not really, because his father maintained the house in its original form, except for improvements to rooms like the bathrooms and kitchens. It’s only Kip who started tearing out walls and there was no way to stop him except for the liens.’
‘Liens?’ I’d started to set my items on the belt and stopped.
‘Constructions liens – he has a habit of not paying his contractors on time.’
‘And they can slap liens on the property,’ I said. ‘That might complicate a sale, wouldn’t it?’
‘Definitely. The lien follows the property, not the person. It has to be paid.’
‘Sarah may be listing the house,’ I told her.
‘She’ll do a title search and any liens will show up,’ Laurel said. ‘I’d have her do it sooner, rather than later. Kip was terrible about paying, as was his father before him, so who knows what’s there.’
‘What was it with him?’ I asked her. ‘Sounds like the man enjoyed stiffing people.’
‘The rich,’ Laurel said. ‘They’re differ—’
‘Next!’ Apparently I hadn’t heard Becky the first time.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered to Laurel as I turned to drop my items on the belt.
‘I’m here for backup if you need me,’ she whispered back.
‘Hi Becky!’ I said brightly.
‘Paper or plastic.’
‘Paper.’
‘We only have plastic.’
This offended me in so many ways. ‘But you just gave me a choice. And you told that last gentleman to save a tree.’
She leaned forward across the belt, her face inches from mine. ‘I was speaking metaphorically.’
I didn’t think so, yet I took the high road. ‘I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m—’
‘Maggy Thorsen. Amy Caprese works for you.’
‘Why, yes.’
‘Fifty-three thirty-two.’
‘Amy told me that you were at the restaurant Wednesday … Fifty-three dollars? For two steaks and some salad?’
‘Complain to management, if you can find him. Won’t get you anywhere.’
Since management was Jacque, I didn’t doubt her. The prices at Schultz’s were legendary. ‘Anyway, I understand you taped Kip’s proposal.’
‘Videoed. No more tape.’
I inserted my charge card. Hard. ‘Metaphorically speaking.’
A smile played around her lips. ‘Touché. And yes, I did. The sheriff’s department took my phone, though, so you’ll have to ask that hunky sheriff of yours if you want it.’
I would. After I made him this ridiculously expensive dinner and plied him with the cheap wine in my cabinet. ‘Why did you send it to Jacque?’
She handed me my receipt and shrugged. ‘He’s my boss.’
‘But you had to know it would upset him.’
‘Which is just why I did it, don’t ya know?’
No, I didn’t know. ‘You wanted to upset your boss? Is that a good idea?’
‘Jacque Oui? Damn right. He’s a jerk.’ She waved at Laurel. ‘Next!’
‘If he’s such a jerk’ – which I didn’t dispute – ‘why work for him all these years?’
‘It’s a job. Have you noticed how old I am?’
I nodded.
‘Right. Old as dirt, so I’m stuck here earning minimum wage. I gotta get my fun somewhere.’
‘But—’
‘Next!!’
‘Forty-three dollars for two steaks?’ Pavlik was reading the label on the butcher paper as he unwrapped the steaks. Outside the grill was pre-heating and inside Frank was pre-drooling. Mocha was hanging out by the grill.
‘Schultz’s.’
‘Ah,’ as if that explained the exorbitant price. Which it did. ‘Should have gotten sirloin.’
‘I thought you were worth rib-eye.’
Pavlik had transferred the steaks to a plate and was preparing to drizzle them with olive oil. He paused, oil in hand. ‘What do you want?’
‘Nothing,’ I lied. ‘But Amy said Jacque was making dinner at her place and it occurred to me that I hadn’t cooked for you in a while.’
‘You realize you’re not cooking for me now, right?’ He’d gone back to his steaks, cracking pepper and grinding sea salt onto the meat.
‘Sure I am.’ I hooked my finger toward the plastic box of thrice pre-washed greens and bottled salad dressing. ‘Or I will be. You don’t want your salad to wilt, do you?’
‘That’s it, steak and salad? No mushrooms? No baked potatoes?’ Setting aside the grinders, he slid his phone over to check it.
‘Well, no. I didn’t think to get them. But steak and salad should be plenty, don’t you think?’
‘Depends.’ He was punching in a text. ‘Is there anything in the salad but lettuce?’
‘No, but it’s different types of lettuce.’ I picked up the box and red. ‘Baby spinach, romaine, red leaf, arugula. And we have dressing.’ I set down the greens and picked up the bottle. ‘See? Oil and vinegar.’
‘You know we can make that ourselves, right?’ He had picked up the tongs and gestured toward the oil.
‘Still need vinegar. And I don’t think the white stuff I use to descale the coffeemaker qualifies.’
Pavlik shook his head and opened the back door before picking up the steak plate. ‘Next time I shop,’ he said as he disappeared onto the porch, Frank on his heels.
‘Fine by me.’ I picked up my wine glass and followed them out. ‘I know what you’re doing, by the way.’
‘What’s that?’ He lifted the hood of the grill.
‘Diverting. You know I want to talk about the case.’ I offered him the wire brush to clean the stainless-steel grate.
He took it. ‘You didn’t clean this the last time you grilled.’
‘How do you know it was me who grilled?’
‘Because it wasn’t cleaned.’
Fair enough. ‘You’re supposed to let the burned stuff build up. Better flavor.’
‘Up to a point, but it’s hard to get grill marks on your steak when the crud is keeping the meat hovering a half inch above the grates.’
‘A mild exaggeration,’ I said, as a chunk of burned stuff flew off his brush and hit me on the cheek. I wiped it onto my finger and held it up for him. ‘But I surrender. I get your point.’
‘Thank you.’ He hung the brush on the little doo-hickey on the front of the grill and picked up the tongs.
‘Back to Jacque,’ I said. ‘I assume you know?’
‘Know what?’ As he laid the steaks on the grill, both of the dogs reflexively sat in front of it. ‘That his Peugeot was the second car on the street in front of the Fargo house Wednesday night?’
‘Exactly. Apparently, he followed Amy and Kip from the restaurant.’
‘Alerted by a helpful text message from Rebecca Ronstadt at said restaurant.’ Pavlik set the now steak-less plate on the ground for the dogs.
‘Ugh,’ I said. ‘Should they be having that blood?’
‘They’re dogs. Originally, nobody cooked their steaks for them.’
I felt myself flush. ‘But isn’t it going to give them a taste for blood?’
‘Afraid you’re going to be killed in your sleep?’ Pavlik asked, retrieving the licked-clean plate.
‘Yup.’ Frank was sitting back licking his chops while Mocha balanced on her tiny back feet in front of him, cleaning the meat-leavings off his beard. ‘And they’d eat the evidence.’
‘Not to worry. If you’re killed in your sleep, it’s far more likely to be somebody from a case you’ve stuck your nose into.’
That was judgmental, if true. ‘You’re a fine one to talk. Your addition to our bed increases that risk exponentially.’
‘But it’s my job. And I might add that it’s creepy that you say “our bed”, like I’m the third wheel to yours and Frank’s relationship.’
‘You knew what you were getting into when you took us on,’ I said.
Pavlik studied my face. ‘You mean your stumbling over bodies or your unnatural relationship with your sheepdog?’
‘Both.’ I patted his cheek and went to toss my salad.
I picked up the subject of Kip’s murder as we were clearing the dishes from dinner. ‘Becky Ronstadt is a pretty unpleasant person. If she incited Jacque to kill Kip, I hope you can charge her with something.’
‘You’re really hot on Jacque Oui as a suspect.’
I straightened up from setting our plates on the floor for the dogs to lick. ‘Aren’t you? Jacque was there, had a motive and, according to Mary, he was not in his car when she left.’
‘He wasn’t? She didn’t tell Fergussen that.’
‘She doesn’t like Fergussen. Nobody does.’
‘That’s not a reason to lie to him.’
‘She didn’t lie. She merely didn’t offer more information.’ Now I sounded like Mary. Or Amy. And probably Sarah. ‘But my point is, if Jacque wasn’t in his car, where was he?’
‘Relieving himself?’ Pavlik whistled for the dogs.
‘Why is that the go-to answer? Do guys really just pee on a bush at the drop of a hat?’
‘Bush? No?’ Pavlik stepped aside to avoid being barreled over by Frank. ‘But there’s a gas station right around the corner on Poplar Creek. Maybe he went to get a Coke or something.’
Maybe. ‘But if so, he did it because he was staking out the house. You don’t think that’s suspicious? When Mary left, Jacque could have been sneaking into the house.’
‘Then he waited to kill Fargo in his bed a couple hours later?’
‘Who knows? Do we know what time the Peugeot left?’
‘Think we need to rinse these?’ Pavlik had retrieved the plates.
‘I suppose, to get the dog spit off them.’ Dishes done, Mocha and Frank trotted into the living room for a postprandial snooze by the fireplace. ‘So is that a no?’
‘To rinsing the dishes?’ Pavlik hesitated, mid-rinse.
‘No, I’d go ahead and rinse the slimy off,’ I said, taking the one he’d finished and slipping it into the dishwasher. ‘I meant “no”, we don’t know what time the Peugeot left.’
Pavlik handed me the other plate, as his cell binged. ‘No is correct. But we’ll ask when we talk to Oui.’
‘You haven’t done that yet?’ I was surprised.
‘Fergussen had trouble finding him.’ Pavlik held up the phone. ‘But thanks to you, Oui’s been taken into custody for questioning.’
Thanks to me? ‘You mean, you sent Fergussen over to snag him at Amy’s?’
‘Yes, but I had him wait until after they finished eating.’
‘But, still …’
‘Gotta go.’ He kissed me on the cheek. ‘Thanks.’
‘For squealing or for making – or, at least, planning – dinner?’
He grinned. ‘Both.’
TWELVE
‘Are you going to tell Amy you squealed?’ Sarah asked me.
It was Sunday morning and our Goddard coffee rush had just vacated the premises.
The Goddard Group had originally started meeting at the lunch counter at Goddard Pharmacy, which was down the way from our original location in the strip mall, Benson Plaza. When Gloria Goddard had decided not to rebuild after her pharmacy was destroyed, the group shifted their allegiance to us, largely because we relaxed our one-refill policy for them. I knew, though, that we were just one free coffee away from them abandoning us for McDonald’s.
Still, they made being open worthwhile on Sunday when there was virtually no commuter traffic.
I glanced toward the side door, making sure that Amy hadn’t arrived yet for her shift. ‘Not if you don’t do it for me. I mean, Fergussen would have been watching her place anyway, right?’
‘For all Fergussen knew, they’d broken up. Until you opened your mouth to Pavlik.’
‘But I’d already told Pavlik I thought Amy still loved … Oh, yes. I see what you mean.’
The side door banged open. ‘How could you, Maggy?’
As Amy rounded the corner, I held up my hands. ‘I am so sorry, Amy. I just mentioned to Pavlik that I’d picked up steaks for us because I was inspired by the fact that Jacque was cooking dinner for you.’ At her house. Right then.
‘All perfectly innocent, right?’ She was advancing on me, nose ring trembling. ‘I bet you told Jason where he was, too. You hate Jacque!’
With that, she burst into tears.
Throwing me a withering look, Sarah led our barista to a table. ‘We all hate Jacque, Amy. But we love you.’
Amy sniffled. ‘I … um … I’m …’
‘Don’t listen to Sarah,’ I said, sitting down next to the girl and rubbing her shoulder. ‘We don’t hate Jacque. We just think he’s kind of …’
‘Hard to like,’ Sarah finished. ‘Though at least I’ve tried harder than Maggy.’
‘You have not,’ I said.
‘Will you two stop!’ Amy exploded. ‘The fact is, Maggy, that you passed things on to Pavlik that I’d told you in confidence.’
‘I … well, I didn’t know it was in confidence.’ This was a weak argument that I’d used with Pavlik on occasion. ‘You should have said—’
‘For God’s sake!’ She was on her feet again. ‘You’re the one who said I shouldn’t be seen with him. Then you send the sheriff’s dog over there to roust us after dinner.’
