An Appetite for Murder (28 page)

“It’s Wally. Wally Beile. About the food critic job. Did I catch you at a bad time? We loved, loved, loved your latest piece and would like to offer you the position. Can you come in tomorrow for a staff meeting? Say nine o’clock?”

“Oh, fantastic! I’m thrilled! Oh, thank you so much.”

“One concern, though. All of the pieces you submitted focused on more down-­market restaurants. Places our readers would feel comfortable taking their kids or their dog. With the exception of Seven Fish, of course. Which is great, but I want to be certain you don’t have anything against the higher-­end eateries. We’d want them covered, too.”

“Only my wallet had a problem with those,” I assured him and clicked off the call, grinning like a fool.

“Oh my gosh, you’ll never guess what just happened.” I whooped with excitement. “Maybe you thought I was on the way out of town, but looks like you’ll be seeing me around, like it or not,” I told Chad, my gun wavering.

“Could you keep your focus, please?” he answered, tipping his head at Meredith.

A trio of policemen burst in through the door, their guns pointed at me. Detective Bransford followed behind them, also holding his weapon drawn. On me.

“Miss Snow,” he said sharply, “put your weapon on the ground and your hands on your head.”

“Fine,” I said, and bent down to place the gun on the tile. “It doesn’t belong to me anyway. Here’s the situation.” I pointed to Meredith, feeling ever so slightly melodramatic.

“Stay!” yelled one of the cops. “Hands over your head.”

I raised them slowly. Another policeman approached me and patted me down. “All clear,” he said.

“Now tell us what’s going on,” said Bransford.

“This woman killed Kristen Faulkner. But she did so by accident. She was trying to poison him.” Keeping my hands up, I bent my pointer finger at Chad, sprawled sideways on the floor, still taped to the chair. “Apparently he represented her husband in a nasty divorce.”

“He stole my dog!” Meredith curled into a ball and began to weep again. “Gerald doesn’t even like animals. Ask him if he ever, once, took that dog out for a walk.” Her shoulders shook with sobs. “And who’s caring for Chuckles now? There was no need to take it that far.”

“You don’t call poison in your pie crust taking something too far?” I muttered. “Sheesh!”

“Get her cuffed and down to the station,” said Bransford to the nearest officer.

For one frightening moment, I thought he meant me. But two of the officers approached Meredith, forced her hands behind her back, and snapped handcuffs on her wrists. They pulled her upright, knees rubbery and face wet, and marched her out of the room.

“Now,” said the detective, “I can’t
wait
to hear how all this unfolded.” He extracted a Swiss Army Knife from one of his pockets, cut the tape from Chad’s wrists and ankles, and helped him to his feet. Chad pushed away from the detective, rubbed his hands together, and stamped his feet.

“Thanks,” he said, without much grace. “What the hell did that crazy witch do with my phone?” He knelt down to look under the bed and swept his BlackBerry out along with several tumbleweed-­sized dust bunnies. He began to thumb through his messages and dialed a number—­probably Deena.

The detective waved a hand in front of Chad’s face. “If it’s not too much trouble, Mr. Lutz, I’d like the two of you to come down to the station now and give your statements.”

Chad frowned. “Right now?”

“Now.”

He rolled his eyes and spoke into the phone. “Deena, it’s me. I’m on my way to the police station, but I’m going to need you to work late tonight and help me untangle today’s mess. Put a call in to the two clients who
had appointments this morning and let them know I’ll get in touch shortly. And Judge Tabor too.”

As he finished barking orders at Deena, I explained to Bransford that Chad had been able to cut me loose with my brand-­new knife. “Okay if I collect it?” I asked. “You’re welcome to hold on to it until we get to the station. But it set me back almost fifty bucks.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were settled in chairs in front of Detective Bransford’s desk. He offered us cups of bad coffee and bars of stale chocolate from the vending machine down the hall. Chad took one bite, made a face, and pushed his away. So I ate them both. It was past dinnertime and I’d never gotten lunch and the terror of being held at gunpoint had left me ravenous. Three uniformed cops leaned against the wall and a tape recorder had been set to run on the desk. Chad was asked to tell his part of the story first.

“I got to work early this morning because I had a lot of appointments. Then Meredith phoned me—­Ms. Warner. She said she was leaving the island today. Permanently. She had decided to accept all the terms of the divorce. Frankly, I was a little surprised that she rolled over that easily—­she’s been a litigious nightmare for months. And why call me, rather than having her lawyer tie up the loose ends? But fine, she must have finally figured out I was the alpha.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Eight hours’ duct-­taped to a chair and he was still a puffed-­up dope.

“And I was happy to close the case,” he added.

“Then why did you go to her home?” the detective asked.

Chad sank lower in his seat. “She said she had Kristen’s iPhone and Kristen wanted her to be sure it got to me. She was willing to hand it over if I’d come by to pick it up. Or she’d turn it over to the cops on her way up to Miami. My choice.” He knocked the side of his head with his fist, looking embarrassed. “I can’t believe I fell for that. But I knew they were close and it seemed plausible that she had the phone.”

My eyes widened. Why was it plausible that Meredith had her dead friend’s phone? And why wouldn’t he want her to drop it off at the station or to Kristen’s family?

Chad looked down at his shoes. “Anyway, she sounded like she meant business and so I agreed to run over and pick it up. Only she met me at the front door with a gun.”

“Excuse me for being dense, but I don’t get it,” I said. “Why in the world would Meredith have Kristen’s phone? And why would you care enough to go pick it up?”

“I can answer that,” said Bransford. “We examined Ms. Faulkner’s phone in the course of our investigation and found some unusual photographs.”

Chad turned scarlet. “Is it necessary to go into the details? I don’t see that they have any bearing on this discussion.”

“Photos of what?” I asked.

Chad refused to answer.

Bransford tapped on his desk to get our attention. “What happened when you arrived at her home?” he asked Chad.

“As I said, she had a gun. You saw how it played out.” Chad grimaced and ran his fingers through his hair, already looking disheveled and a little greasy. “She taped
me to that blasted chair where I stayed all day, while she tried to work up the nerve to finish the job. Then Hayley turned up and you know the rest.”

“But how does a hundred-­twenty-­pound woman tape a big man to a chair? Did she have an accomplice?” the detective asked.

“More like a hundred and fifteen,” I said.

Chad scowled. “No, she didn’t have a damn accomplice. She said she’d shoot me if I didn’t cooperate and I believed her.”

“You believed her.” It looked like the detective was trying not to laugh.

“She wanted to kill me,” said Chad. “And she knew Hayley had been snooping around all week asking questions about the murder. She was certain that Hayley had figured out who was responsible for the pie. In fact, she panicked on Saturday, followed Hayley all the way to Miami, and tried to kill her by running her off the road. In the end, she had us both tied up, but she didn’t have the guts to follow through.”

“And you believe her motivation was the divorce settlement you negotiated for her husband?” asked Bransford.

“The settlement was very favorable to my client,” said Chad, with a smug little smile. “Very.”

“Taking her dog was purely mean,” I couldn’t help saying.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re so naive, Hayley.”

Before I could think of a shriveling retort, the detective signaled for another timeout and turned his attention to me. “So you came to Miss Warner’s house because . . .”

“Because Chad’s secretary, Deena, called to say she was worried. He’d missed three important appointments and the day wasn’t over. And then I started thinking about my tarot readings over the last week and I got the strong feeling he was in danger.”

Chad began to snicker, and then laugh so hard that he choked on his own saliva. The detective got up from his desk and came around to pound him on the back.

“The next time,” I said, glaring at Chad with as much dignity as I could summon, “I will leave your sorry butt taped to the chair.”

I turned back to the detective. “Anyway, as I was saying, I started thinking more about the pie and how much Chad hates desserts and how everyone I talked to commented that Kristen loved them. Especially key lime pie. What if the killer didn’t know that Kristen had been staying with him?” I cleared my throat. “After all, I had just moved out.

“And then Deena called back again and said one of Chad’s clients had reported his Audi stolen and he suspected his ex. The more I thought about it, the more I could almost picture those overlapping Audi circles in my rearview mirror the other night. And then I thought of the notes I’d seen about the divorce case of someone he called ‘M’ when I was cleaning his apartment”—­I pointed at Chad without looking at him—­“and it all fell into place. So I asked around and found out where she lived. I did leave you a message,” I told the detective. “And I was going to call you again if something looked out of whack. You haven’t exactly been taking my word as gospel this week.”

It was Detective Bransford’s turn to blush. “You’re both free to go now, though we may need to contact you again later.”

“Of course,” I said, and followed Chad from the room. By the time I caught up with him outside the building, he was already on the phone arranging for Deena to pick him up and order his dinner.

Watching him bark his orders, I remembered the conversation with my stepmother about my desperation. And Lorenzo’s latest reading, when he mentioned my fears of rejection and loneliness. It wouldn’t be fair to blame all our problems on Chad, tempting as that might be.

“I understand you a lot better than I did a week ago,” I told him once he’d slid his phone into his pocket. “And me too. I was leaning on you too hard to get things moving in my own life—­you weren’t really looking for that much intimacy. Kristen would have been a better match. Maybe.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the free analysis.”

“I have a little free advice, too,” I said. “In the future, maybe you’d be better off thinking less about winning and more about what’s fair. At least then your clients’ spouses won’t wish you dead.”

I turned around and started home, hoping he was watching me go. But even more than that, wishing it had been Bransford.

“Yes! Live! Life’s a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!”

—­Auntie Mame

The tension of the day had twisted the muscles in my lower back to throbbing knots. I stretched out on the houseboat’s tiny living room floor, drawing in my knees alternately to my stomach, while I described Meredith’s capture to Connie. I had just gotten to the part where the rooster burst out of the bushes, when someone knocked on the door.

“Hold that thought,” said Connie, getting up to answer. She gave a little whoop of delight and moved out of the way so I could see who was there. Miss Gloria with a huge armload of gray tiger cat.

I leaped to my feet and crossed the room in two big steps. “Evinrude!”

Miss Gloria loaded him into my arms and I buried my
face in his fur—­which smelled a little like gasoline. He purred like the engine that had given him his name.

“Honest to gosh, I’d almost given up on him. Where did you find him?”

“I had to think like a cat,” Miss Gloria said with a mysterious smile. “You know the boat two doors down with all the junk in the windows?” She gestured down the walk. “He must have slipped in there the day I was knocked out and your houseboat was wrecked. And then he couldn’t get out. I saw his tail in the window and the dockmaster came over and let me in so I could get him.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said. “You are a true friend.”

The cat scrambled out of my arms and stalked over to the mat where his water and food bowls sat, empty. I filled them both and added a tiny Pyrex bowl of organic milk as a welcome home treat. Then I noticed Miss Gloria’s son hovering outside our boat. He was talking on his cell phone, pacing, dressed in his usual black, but with the addition of a black blazer that looked too warm for the weather. I realized she was dressed up too, wearing a navy housedress, not her regular turquoise sweat suit with the shape of Florida traced in glitter on her chest. Traveling clothes. My heart gave a downward flip—­was he moving his mother today?

“If you have a minute, my son has something to ask you,” Miss Gloria said, smiling widely—­not at all like a person whose Michigan winter prison sentence was about to begin. I came out onto the porch.

Freddy snapped his phone shut and stepped onto our deck. “I’ve been discussing our mother’s situation with
my brother back home. We’d like to propose a deal. If you’ll consider living in the spare bedroom on Mother’s houseboat and looking after her a little, the room is yours rent free. We know it’s asking a lot and we’ll understand if you say no. But it would sure be a load off our minds.”

I thought it over for about forty-­five seconds. I didn’t know Miss Gloria all that well, but what I knew, I loved. Her boat wasn’t very big, though the second bedroom was larger than my current digs. And I’d be near Connie, not on top of her and Ray. And I’d get to stay on houseboat row, rent free.

“Are you kidding?” I yelped. “Absolutely!” I clamped Miss Gloria into a big hug and kissed the top of her head.

I motored down Southard Street and parked in front of the Green Parrot, where Bill Blue was playing another sound check. At the bar, I bought a Key West Sunset Ale and told the bartender that I’d be running a tab for my friends. Then I waded through the crowd to claim the windowsill, where I’d sat with Eric just a few days ago. It seemed like months—­so much had changed. Deena called as I was settling in.