Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay (28 page)

“Ah, beautiful,” Philippe said as he wiped his hands on his apron and prepared to cut off two portions. His cheerful demeanor suddenly became uncharacteristically sour. Sensing his dissatisfaction with his staff, Madeline discreetly turned her attention to the framed photographs of Philippe’s culinary masterpieces while he down-dressed one of his sous chefs in his native tongue. An exchange took place and the contrite underling made his apologies.

“Sorry about that. I think we are all still a little shaken up from last night,” Philippe confided to Madeline as he placed the slices on two plates already primed with a delicate yet undoubtedly
rich sauce.

“I can certainly understand that,” Madeline said. “It must’ve been a nightmare for all of you, trying to complete the service when an army of law enforcers descended on the kitchen.” Philippe threw his
glance heavenward.

“It was unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head to dispel the memory. “It is certainly something for my memoirs,” he joked as he covered the last of the goodies and put them in a third insulated
carrying case.

“You are all set,
ma cherie
.
Bon appetit
!”

THIRTY-FOUR

“What’s in that one?” Mike asked as Madeline removed the lid off another plate. She inhaled deeply, savoring the
sublime aroma.

“Duck
confit
with figs and black truffles.” She took the lid off the side dish and took a taste of the trio of pureed vegetables that accompanied the main course. “Oh, yum…celery root…” She tried the one next to it. “Umm…” She stood back and motioned for Mike to
try it.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” he declared. “What
is it?”

“Wild yam with chestnuts.”

“What’s the third one?” Both spoons went at the remaining puree simultaneously. Madeline took a tentative taste
and smiled.

“Heavenly,” she sighed.

“What is it?”
Mike asked.

“It’s the sunchoke and cauliflower puree with
fresh horseradish.”

“No fair, you already know what all this stuff is. Well, what are we
waiting for?”

“I’ll get some plates.”

After gorging themselves on the most delectable food either of them had had in years, they tried to focus on their many assignments and concerns. With very little sleep squeezed into the last two days, it was hard to concentrate properly, especially when their bodies were trying to digest
the feast.

“I need coffee,” Madeline said as she got up to put on a pot. While it was brewing, she came back into Mike’s office carrying two small plates and
a creamer.

“What now?” Mike asked as he struggled off the sofa to get a better look. Madeline set the plates down and trickled a rich-looking sauce
around both.

“Something that will probably keep us awake for hours,” she said, handing Mike a spoon. “This is Philippe’s killer marquise of dark chocolate, white chocolate and espresso, with a mint crème Anglaise.” Mike made a dubious face. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. I’ll go get
the coffee.”

“Isn’t that a little redundant?” Mike asked, hazarding a taste. “Whoa, that’s insanely delicious. If I were a woman, I’d marry
the guy.”

“I know. I should’ve ditched Steven for him before everything went to hell,” Madeline joked as she reentered Mike’s office carrying two mugs of coffee.

“What? And miss out on having this
glamorous career?”

“Which one?” Madeline
asked sarcastically.

“Well, the perks are definitely better in the event planning business,” Mike said through a mouthful
of dessert.

“As fabulous as it is to work with a chef like Philippe, I don’t know if I can handle doing that line of
work anymore.”

“I get that you’re burnt out after dealing with Cherie so long, but it did land us our first big case.”

Madeline couldn’t argue with that. And the Story case was the kind of job that could lead to others, if they could manage to solve it. With that objective in mind, Madeline opened her computer and got to work. Finding what she was looking for, she got up and turned on the printer. She came back a couple minutes later with new photos. She rearranged the boards and regarded the picture of Vivian and Teresa she had taken in the garden, back when the biggest worry either of them had was the upcoming party. She stood there for a moment, lost in thought. She let out a deep sigh and continued her task.

The rest of the photocopies were taken from video coverage of the event. She hung a picture of Sally as she put the finishing touches on Cherie’s makeup. Next to that, she put a picture of Helen in profile as she oversaw the festivities from the exterior doorway to the kitchen. The final picture was of the birthday girl in all
her glory.

“Have I left out anyone?” she asked as she stood back to regard the changes. Mike got off the sofa to take a
closer look.

“I guess that’s the short list.” They let their eyes wander over the photos and index cards, each changing the order to make the story they told more sequential.

“Okay…we’ve got everyone who was seen on the stairs immediately prior to and after Vivian’s death,” Mike said, looking to Madeline for confirmation. She got up closer to scrutinize Sally’s photo. She tapped it several times with her fingernail before taking it off and moving it to the bottom of
the board.

“Why’d you do that?”
Mike asked.

“Sally is seen going up the stairs at 9:37. It would take her about a minute to reach Vivian’s bedroom. She was in Cherie’s dressing room probably a minute, minute and a half before I left to go see Vivian. It would’ve taken me well over a minute to reach Vivian’s room, knock, wait for an answer and then discover her body. I placed the 911 call at 9:43.” Mike did the math in
his head.

“You don’t think she had enough time to have done it,”
he surmised.

“No, I don’t. She would’ve had to know where all the players were. And how could she be sure Vivian would
be alone?”

“Okay, that leaves us with two suspects…”

“That we know of…”
Madeline said.

“Cherie and Helen. And you don’t think Cherie had enough presence of mind to pull off
a strangulation…”

“Not in her condition,”
Madeline maintained.

“And you don’t think her condition was cleverly orchestrated?” Mike
challenged her.

“You think she’d wreck her own star-studded party? After planning it for
a year?”

“Maybe she was planning Vivian’s death along with it…”

Madeline shook her head in exasperation. “You haven’t spent as much time with that woman as I have. Trust me, her idea of heavy mental lifting is packing for a two-week vacation. Pulling off a murder when there were so many variables—like over a hundred—I
find inconceivable.”

“She could’ve been acting dumb all this time,” Mike suggested.

Madeline laughed out loud. “Right. If her acting ability was that good, she’d be an Oscar winner herself. Besides, if she’s so damn clever, why would she hide the murder weapon in one of her own drawers?”

Mike narrowed his eyes and tapped his fingers while he considered this. “Good point,” he conceded. “Unless things happened faster than she had anticipated and she couldn’t dispose of it as planned. You showed up in her dressing room. Sally came in to fix her makeup, which she was doing when you discovered Vivian’s body. After all hell broke loose, she was sedated.” Mike shrugged as if to say the ball was in her court.

Now it was Madeline’s turn to capitulate. “Okay, that is within the realm of possible, if Cherie is the ruthless mastermind you claim
she is.”

“I’m not claiming anything,” Mike said defensively. “I just think we have to look at this from every angle.” Madeline walked back to the desk to take a sip of
her coffee.

“Well, if that’s the case, let’s take a tug at Helen’s alibi,”
she challenged.

“Okay…you start,” Mike said, a lopsided grin on his face. Madeline let out a weak laugh and went back up to the board to examine the cards under Helen’
s picture.

“All right…Helen is seen going up the stairs at one minute after nine, twelve minutes after Vivian and Teresa went up. Ten minutes later, Helen and Teresa are seen leaving down the backstairs.” Madeline paused, as her mind tried to find any farfetched motive to go with
the opportunity.

“So…there’s a ten-minute window in which Helen walks to Vivian’s room, agrees to take Teresa home and then makes it to the back staircase with Teresa in tow.” Madeline stared at Mike while she strained her brain to come up with the part about Helen
killing Vivian.

“Helen and Teresa are walking down the hall and Helen stops—she’s forgotten to tell Vivian something. She has Teresa wait for her in the hallway. She goes back into Vivian’s room on some pretense. Vivian goes about her business of getting ready for bed. Let’s say Helen fiddles with the drapes to close them tighter or something. She casually removes one of the silk cords, sneaks up behind Vivian, chokes her with the cord and she’s back out in the hallway. The whole thing takes less than
two minutes.”

“What about the cord?” Mike asked, amused by Madeline’s
fanciful imagination.

“She takes it
with her.”

“How?”

“She hides it in her ample bosom.” Mike chuckled at the thought. “You’ve seen her—she’s a big woman.”

“I think someone would notice if she had a tasseled rope stuck in her blouse, along with
everything else.”

“Okay…” Madeline said, reworking the supposition a different way. “Just past Vivian’s suite is a walk-in linen closet. I passed it one day while Helen was taking inventory.” Madeline paused and then began to pace as the scene worked its way through
her head.

“So…Helen hides the cord—one way or another—and as she approaches Teresa, who’s been waiting in the hallway for her, she pops into the linen closet, stashes the cord under a stack of whatever’s closest, and rejoins Teresa.” Madeline came to a stop and regarded her partner, who was watching her with a
sly smile.

“What’s wrong with that theory?” she asked. Before Mike could answer, the first notes of Harlem Nocturne heralded a new text message. He pulled the phone from his pocket and read the message with a frown. He tapped out a hasty reply and slipped the phone into his pants pocket. When he returned his gaze to Madeline, he found her smiling at him in a way that meant she knew what that was
all about.

“Forget something, or should I say ‘someone’?” she asked with
feigned innocence.

“Nothing that can’t keep,” Mike said, avoiding eye contact. Madeline looked at her watch. It was quarter
after eight.

“We’ve been going at this all day. Go on, make someone happy,”
Madeline teased.

“It’s fine. She’ll get over it.” As soon as the words left his mouth, another text came through. Looking irritated, Mike left the room to make a call. Though she wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, it was impossible not to hear snippets of the conversation. It didn’t
sound pleasant.

During their apprenticeship with Russell Barnett, Mike would never let work stand in the way of his social life. Being financially well-off, thanks to the inheritance from his father, he always considered his foray into private investigations as something of a lark. Madeline found it heartening that he felt differently about it now that they had their own agency.
Then again,
she reconsidered,
maybe it has more to do with the girl
in question.

“Look, these things are going to happen in my line of work…” Mike said as he paced in front of his
office doorway.

Somebody’s pissed,
Madeline thought, trying to get her focus back on Vivian’s murder. Mike’s voice receded and became so quiet she could actually
concentrate again.

As she stood there staring at the board, she realized there was a phone call she needed to make. She looked up the number Ross had given her for Helen’s cell phone. She was weighing the benefits of making the call when Mike came back into
his office.

“Sorry
about that.”

“No problem,” Madeline said, eyeing her
phone intently.

“You calling someone?”
Mike asked.

“Thinking about it,” Madeline replied vaguely. Mike waited a few seconds, hoping for further enlightenment. Madeline could feel his need to know what she was thinking. She propped herself against his desk and appeased
his curiosity.

“I was going to give Helen
a call.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I guess I’d like to hear her story again, see if it’s changed
at all.”

“Are you just going to come out and ask her to repeat it?” Mike asked in a
challenging manner.

“No, I don’t want to do that,” Madeline said distractedly. “But I do have a good conversation starter, sad as it is.” She looked up at Mike, their eyes meeting and holding. “I don’t suppose anyone has thought to inform her about Teresa’s death.” The light of comprehension shone in Mike’
s eyes.

“Ah, I see where you’re going…” Madeline stood up suddenly and went back to the board.

“The focus so far has been on Vivian’s murder. We haven’t really speculated much about Teresa’s.”

“Okay, let’s shift gears. Tell me what you’re thinking,” Mike said, coming to stand
beside her.

“Is it really just a bizarre coincidence that Vivian and Teresa were killed on the
same night?”

“Are you suggesting the same person killed them both?” Mike asked. “If so, that would rule Cherie out, because she
was incapacitated.”

“I know. That only leaves Helen.” Mike crossed his arms and regarded
her skeptically.

“I know it seems weird, but think about this…what if Helen did strangle Vivian…What if she was caught in the act, or if Teresa walked back into the room and saw Vivian lying on the floor, the way I found her. Instead of calling for help, Helen hustles Teresa down the backstairs and into her car, the threat of deportation keeping Teresa’s movements in check. Helen knows she’s going to be seen on several cameras, so she plays it cool. But now she knows she’s got to get rid of the girl too, so she takes her somewhere and slits her throat, wraps her body up in something to keep the blood contained, then moves it to Rattlesnake Trail. She comes back with this cockamamie story about driving out to Isla Vista, but that’s just to cover for all the time she’s
been away.”

Mike drew back and inhaled deeply as he tried to get his head around this new hypothesis. “I think all that sugar and caffeine have put your brain
in overdrive.”

“What don’t you like about that theory?”

Mike leaned against the wall while he dissected it. “Well, I guess I could go along with the first part, but slitting Teresa’s throat in one place and moving her somewhere else seems very problematic. For starters, there would’ve been a lot of blood. It would be almost impossible to not get it on some part of her car, even if Helen wrapped her in something.”