To Catch a Leaf (25 page)

I decided to probe further.

“Where were you on Monday morning?” I asked Juanita.

“Now you're going to interrogate me as if I am a suspect?” Juanita asked, her eyes blazing with indignation. “This is ridiculous. Everyone knows your assistant did it.”

Grace was standing behind the counter, filling the coffee machine with water. At Juanita's statement, she froze.

I leaned toward Juanita and said in a low voice, “If you're innocent, then you won't mind answering my questions, will you?”

Juanita drummed her fingertips on the table, then sighed sharply and refilled her coffee cup. “If you must know, I went out for a drive in the country.”

“What time did you leave the house?” I asked.

“Early,” she said, stirring sugar into her cup. “I like to drive before the streets are busy.”

And yet Guy claimed he hadn't heard the garage door open. “How early?” I asked.

Juanita shrugged. “Eight o'clock? What does it matter?”

“Mrs. Dunbar heard someone shut off the burglar alarm and leave the house before dawn.”

“It wasn't me,” Juanita said.

“She smelled your perfume when she got to the kitchen.”

Juanita met my gaze defiantly for several long moments, then looked away. “Perhaps I did leave before dawn that day. Who can remember from one day to the next?”

I glanced at Lindsey, but she was breaking tiny pieces off her scone, obviously wanting to stay out of it.

“Is there anyone who can verify that you went driving that morning?” I asked.

“How would I know that?” Juanita snapped. “Anyone could look out the window and see my red Porsche go by.”

No witnesses. Convenient. “What did you and your mother-in-law argue about on Monday morning?”

Juanita put down her cup with a hard clink. “That is
none
of your business.”

“It's a sore subject,” Lindsey added sheepishly.

Juanita pointed a bright pink fingertip at me. “You told me you wanted to know about Virginia's boyfriend, so I told you. Now it's your turn.”

“But you didn't tell me everything,” I said.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Juanita asked, shoving back her chair. “Because if you are, I will walk out of here right now.”

“Are you having an affair with Guy Luce?” I asked.

Juanita's eyes grew wide. “First you call me a liar and now you accuse me of that? I will not answer such an insulting question.” She huffed loudly, then tossed her hair. “Guy Luce? How ridiculous. He drives cars for a living.” At a cell phone's beep, she began to search through her enormous purse.

“She's not having an affair with Guy,” Lindsey said quietly.

I studied Juanita as she returned a text message. If she wasn't seeing Guy, maybe Marco was right about Griffin, as disgusting as that thought was. Maybe Constance had suspected what Juanita was up to and confronted her daughter-in-law at breakfast.

Had Constance threatened to tell Burnsy about the affair? Had Juanita gotten angry enough to push her mother-in-law to her death?

“Are you having an affair with Griffin?” I asked Juanita, as she shut her phone.

“That's it!” Juanita cried. “I am through answering your ridiculous questions.”

“Okay,” I said, sitting back. “Find the tattletale yourself.”

Juanita gasped. “Are you going backward on your word?”

“Going back,” Lindsey whispered, “not backward.”

“You broke your promise,” Juanita said, ignoring the correction. “That makes me very angry.”

“Here it comes,” Lindsey whispered.

Juanita got up, put her bag over her shoulder, then pointed at me. “You know what happens when a Garcia gets angry.”

Gulp
.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“T
hat didn't go well, did it?” Grace asked, coming over to clean up the table after Lindsey and Juanita had gone.

“Juanita has a hot temper,” I said. “Don't pay any attention to her.”

Grace emptied the tray before answering. “I had another dream last night. I saw the letter
g
written on a chalkboard. That was all. Just the letter
g.
I knew it meant something to the murder investigation, but I wasn't sure what until I overheard Juanita's threat just now. Perhaps the
g
refers to the name Garcia.”

“Grace, the
g
could be referring to you, too.”

“No, I'm sure it has some other significance. Perhaps you should run it past Marco. He called a bit ago, so I told him you were interviewing Juanita.”

“Run what past Marco?” Lottie asked, coming into the parlor.

“Just an idea I had,” Grace said. “Are we ready to open the shop?”

“In ten minutes,” Lottie said. “I wanted to mention two things to Abby. Remember the stalker I thought we had but we didn't really? The guy who ordered a single flower each week? I just came across that stack of his orders I'd clipped together, and it dawned on me that he hasn't been around lately. I think we finally got rid of him.”

“That's a relief,” I said.

“And the flower shipment arrived,” Lottie said.

“Super,” I said. “We can get busy on those remaining orders.”

“Already underway,” Lottie said.

“Is Nikki here?” I asked.

“Marco's mom. She came in with the deliveryman, so I put her right to work.”

“I thought she was going to stay home to take care of Tabitha.” That had been my hope anyway.

“I don't know anything about that,” Lottie said. “All I know is that I can use the extra pair of hands because you have other things to do. Come take a look.”

I followed Lottie out of the parlor and into the shop, where I saw another group of people had gathered, all holding wiggling bundles of fur. “Wonderful,” I said with a sigh. “More cats.”

“I'm reminded of a quote by the ancient Roman playwright Plautus,” Grace said, “who said—”

What a relief to see Grace back to her old self.

But then she stopped, and I could see that she was struggling to remember. “Who said,” she began again. She took a deep breath. “‘Patience . . .'”

Lottie adjusted the pink barrette in her hair. I pushed back my cuticles.

“‘Patience,'” Grace said forcefully, “‘is the best remedy for every trouble.'”

“There you go!” Lottie said, and we both hugged her.

The curtain parted and Francesca stuck her head out. “Abby, bella! Here you are. Did Grace tell you I brought bruschetta and homemade gelato for lunch? Come. Hurry, hurry. We have a lot to do. After we get these arrangements done and delivered, we have to look at the invitations; then I have to run back home and finish Marco and Raphael's laundry.”

“You do their laundry?” I asked.

“What's a mother for, eh?” Francesca replied, then glided back to the workroom.

“Patience,” Grace said softly.

As it worked out, Marco saved me yet again from having to pick out shower invitations with his mom. We had worked like fiends to finish the orders by noon so we could get them delivered in time for the one o'clock viewing, and then Marco swept in like my knight in shining blue jeans to pluck me away for a surprise. Luckily, Nikki had come in as promised, so she could fill in for me while I was gone.

“What's my surprise?” I asked, as we buckled ourselves into Marco's car.

“We're going to waylay Burnett Newport.”

Yippee?

“I tried to get him to agree to meet with me,” Marco continued, “but that wasn't successful, so I thought we'd catch him in his usual habitat.”

My ears perked up. “The racetrack?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, Marco, I love horses. I've always wanted to go to the races.”

“I thought you'd like that. Now tell me about your conversation with Juanita this morning.”

I filled him in on the hothead's denials, lies, accusations, and subsequent vow to get even, which Marco dismissed summarily. “Even if Juanita did kill her mother-in-law, she wouldn't risk anything that would draw more attention to her, like harming you.”

It took almost an hour to get to the racetrack across the border in Illinois. We parked in the last row of a giant parking lot, then headed for the two-story brown brick building adjacent to the track.

“Remember this morning when I told you about the dream Grace had, where she saw the letter
g
?” I asked, as Marco opened the door for me. “Grace thought it might refer to Juanita's maiden name, but as I pointed out, it could also refer to Grace. Or for that matter Guy Luce or even Griffin. But you know what else that
g
could mean? Gambling.”

“You're reaching, Sunshine.”

Inside, we made our way through a crowd and walked to the wall of plate glass that overlooked rows of stadium seats facing the oval track below. “How are we supposed to find a man we've only seen on TV?” I asked.

Marco took out a stack of color photos of Burnett Junior and handed them to me. “I took footage off the cable news's Web site and broke it into separate frames. You can get a better idea seeing him from different angles.”

I shuffled through the photos, then searched the crowd behind me while Marco looked at the people in the seats. But after ten minutes, I was ready to give up. “It's a needle in a haystack,” I said glumly. “We're better off trying to see him at the Newport mansion.”

“He can avoid us there. He can't here. Keep looking. We'll see him eventually.”

Eventually? What did that mean? Hours? Months?

I got tired of standing on my tiptoes trying to see over people taller than me—which was just about everybody—and sat on a bench under the glass instead. The rectangular, brightly lit area resembled a hotel lobby and bustled with people hurrying back and forth from the seats outside to the betting windows. How would we ever spot one pudgy, balding middle-aged man in a room full of them?

On the far end of the room, I caught sight of a petite blonde who reminded me of Juanita's friend Lindsey. She was even wearing a long red coat with blue jeans, and a red-and-blue-striped scarf around her neck. She was darting in and out of the six lines of people waiting to place their bets as though she were looking for someone. Was that Lindsey? Was Juanita here, too? Maybe if I found her, I'd also find her husband.

I jumped to my feet and was about to go after her when I spotted Burnsy waiting in line at the third betting window some distance away. I dashed back to Marco and grabbed his arm. “I found Burnett. Come with me.” I took him to where I'd been standing and pointed. “He's just about to place a bet. See him?”

“Let's go.”

We plowed through the crowd and waited at the back of the third line until Burnsy walked by. We followed him out into the stadium and watched him walk down three levels, then sidle down the row of spectators.

“There's a vacant seat next to him,” Marco told me, “and several in the row behind him.”

“You should sit next to him,” I said. “I'll take one behind him.”

While Marco made his way along one row, I scooted along the row one level up and took a seat behind Marco. Burnsy had a cardboard coffee cup in one hand and a pair of small binoculars in the other. He raised the binocs to his eyes and focused on the horses that were being led toward the starting gate.

Marco had picked up a tip sheet inside and now folded it so he could see the stats for the fourth race.

“Any sure bets?” Marco asked.

Burnsy didn't even look around. “If there are, I haven't found them.”

“Sounds like you haven't had a good day today,” Marco said.

“I should probably call it quits, but you know how it goes. Never know when a horse will surprise you.”

“I hear you, man, but after a day like I've had, I could really go for a cold beer. How about you? I'm buying.”

Burnsy lowered the binoculars and turned to give Marco a long look. “Do I know you?”

“Ever stop by Down the Hatch?”

“Never even heard of it.” Burnsy turned back to the track and resumed his scrutiny.

“How about this, then?”

Burnsy sighed to show his irritation and looked over again. “How about what?”

Marco displayed his wallet ID. “How about answering a few questions?”

Burnsy squinted to read the name. “Marco Salvare? Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“If you've listened to any of the three voice mail messages I've left you, it should. I'm investigating your mother's death.”