A Fatal Twist of Lemon (26 page)

“Try this sauce on the salmon,” Thomas said, passing me a gravy boat brimming with a creamy sauce. “Natasha's outdone herself.”

“Salmon's pretty good without it,” I said, glancing at Manny.

He grinned. “Thanks, but it's even better with. That's Nat's special dill sauce. Pass it over here when you're done.”

I poured a dollop of the sauce beside my salmon and handed the boat over to Manny. One taste of the sauce and I was in heaven. It was delicate and rich at the same time, the perfect complement to the grilled salmon.

“Mmm! Oh, Nat!” I moaned. “Do you share recipes?”

“Only with family,” she said, grinning.

The meal progressed at a relaxed pace. Pleasant conversation with good company, not to mention a bit of tipsiness from the cocktails, made the evening a delightful break for me.

Gina was right. I really had needed some time away from the tearoom. I needed to be with people—friends, not just customers and staff.

Lemon sorbet and crisp little rolled cookies topped off the meal, after which we moved back to the living room for coffee and more conversation. The party broke up around ten. I hung around as the other guests were leaving, intending to help with the clean-up, but Nat wouldn't let me.

“You have enough of that to deal with every day,” she said, shooing me away from the kitchen. “You go on home and get a good night's sleep.”

“Okay. Well, thanks for giving me the chance to drive out here. I see there are some places for sale in the neighborhood.”

Nat sighed. “More and more. The taxes are obscene. I've thought about selling, myself.”

“Nat! Sell your wonderful house, that you've been living in for forty years?”

“Well, with Hal and the kids gone it's really too big for just me. It's a lot of work to keep up, you know.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen, where Manny was banging around cleaning up. “I haven't decided,” she added.

I didn't want to pry. She and Manny had been seeing each other off and on for years, but lately it seemed things were starting to get more serious. Serious enough for Manny to run tame in her house for a dinner party. If he wound up proposing and she gave up her house to join him in his place in town, I could hardly blame her.

Nat saw me out, fielding my repeated thanks for the lovely evening. The clouds had cleared off and a thousand stars were glimmering overhead in the cold spring sky. I paused to inhale the scent of the piñon forest, then climbed into my car and drove back into town.

As I came in the tearoom's back door I had an unpleasant sense of deja vu. Blue and red lights were flashing through the hallway from the window lights around the front door.

I hurried down the hall to look out the lights, and was just in time to see a police car pull away from in front of the Territorial B&B across the street. Wondering if something had happened there, I let myself out the front door of the tearoom and hurried over.

I knocked on the front door, quietly so as not to disturb Katie and Bob's guests. After a minute Bob opened the door, a worried frown on his lean face.

“Sorry to bother you this late,” I said. “I just saw the squad car leave, and I thought I should come over to make sure everything's all right.”

Bob's mouth turned downward and he shook his head. “No, it isn't,” he said in a broken voice. “They just took Katie away.”

 

 

 

 

14 

“W
hat?” I said, “at ten-thirty on a Sunday night?”

Bob just stood there nodding his head and looking miserable. I realized he was in a state of shock, so I stepped into the hall and closed the door behind me, muting the sound of late-night traffic.

The hall was gently lit by punched-tin sconces that cast patterns of light against the white walls. The dining room and living room of the B&B were dark. All the guests must be in their rooms. I drew Bob a little way into the living room, where comfy over-stuffed couches and sofas invited guests to lounge.

“Tell me what happened,” I asked in a quiet voice.

“Two cops just showed up and said they wanted Katie to go to the station with them and make a statement,” Bob said, rubbing his long-fingered hands together. “I couldn't go with her—we have guests, someone has to be here.”

“Do you want me to go down there and be with her?” I offered. “Maybe I can find out what's going on.”

Bob's eyes flickered with hope, and a small smile softened his face, then vanished again. “What if they put her in jail? We have to get breakfast in the morning—”

“I can help with breakfast if you need it. I'm closed tomorrow. But you won't,” I added, speaking my hopes aloud. “If all they want is for her to make a statement it won't take long. I'll go check it out, and give Katie a ride home.”

“That's awfully good of you, Ellen. I hate to trouble you.”

His shoulders slumped, making him look more than usual like a gangly scientist. His tall, lean frame always looked borderline geekish to me, though in fact he was a versatile handyman, better with carpenter's tools than computers.

“No trouble,” I said. “I owe you for all the help you gave me setting up the tearoom. I'll give you a call from the station if there's anything you should know.”

I hurried back across the street, not bothering to go inside since I still had my purse slung over my shoulder. I walked around to the back of the tearoom, hopped in my car, and drove to the police station.

I was worried because of the thing with Katie's earring. I remembered how Detective Aragón had reacted when I asked about it, and how he had asked me not to mention it to her. Apparently the earring was a bigger deal than I had thought.

There was not much activity in the police station late on a Sunday night. A young man in handcuffs with a shaved head and tattoos was being escorted down a hallway as I came in. The duty cop, a guy about my age, pudgy with a military buzz, looked up from the front desk.

“I'm a friend of Katie Hutchins. I understand she's here making a statement.”

The cop shrugged. I bit down on rising anger, knowing it would do me no good to bristle at this guy.

“Is Detective Aragón here?” I asked. “I have some information for him about the Carruthers case. Would you please let him know I'm here? Ellen Rosings,” I added as he reached for a pad of sticky notes.

He scribbled on the top page, then pulled it off. “Ronnie,” he called over his shoulder.

A tall, slim cop with body armor making odd, angular bulges in his uniform sauntered over to the desk. The pudgy cop handed him the sticky note.

“Give this to Tony.”

The slim guy glanced at the note, then at me, then shrugged and strolled away down a corridor. I sat on one of three institutional metal chairs against the wall. The cop at the desk paid me no further heed, and I was left to fret on my own. After half an hour I stood up, which drew the suspicious gaze of the desk cop.

“Could you direct me to the restroom, please?” I asked.

“Down that hall on the right,” he said, pointing toward a hallway that looked like offices.

“Thanks.”

I went down the hall, glancing at each door I passed. Some were closed. One on the left was open and proved to be a break room, emitting an odor of stale bread and burned coffee. A cop glanced up at me from pouring a cup of sludge. I flashed a smile and went on.

I found the ladies' room and went in, encountering a female cop on her way out. She gave me a swift, appraising glance, then ignored me. I began to wonder if every non-cop who entered police station was automatically suspected of ill intent.

My intent wasn't ill, though it might well be unwelcome. I was tired of waiting around. If I couldn't find Katie, at least maybe I could find out what was going on with her.

I stepped out of the restroom back into the empty hallway. To my left the cop at the front desk was talking on the phone. I turned right, trying to look like I knew where I was going. I passed a few more closed doors, then the hall I was in dead-ended in a “T” with another hallway. I turned right again, now officially lost in the bowels of the station.

This hallway was a little less presentable. Bookshelves full of binders narrowed the passage, and I felt a little claustrophobic. I continued to the end of the hall, which was blocked by a door marked “Evidence.”

Turning back, I tried the other half of the hallway. A man in a neat, dark suit came out of a doorway and looked at me in surprise. He was about forty, with pale hair receding from a high brow.

“Can I help you?” he said.

“I'm looking for the interview rooms,” I said. “I'm here to pick up a friend.”

“All the way down,” he said, nodding to me to continue down the hall. “Left and then right.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“What was your name, Miss?”

“Rosings. Ellen Rosings.”

He frowned. “Sounds familiar. Are you with County?”

“No. I'm the owner of the Wisteria Tearoom.”

His face brightened. “That's right! I saw you on the news. Not my case, but everyone's following it, you know. Not your everyday homicide. I guess the vic was pretty well known in the community.”

“I believe she was.”

“Pretty spectacular job. Strangled with her own necklace, right in public.”

Having nothing to say in response, I gave him a polite smile and started forward again. He came with me.

“I hear Tony just got a breakthrough tonight.”

“Did he?” I asked.

“Yeah—the lab results came through.”

He stopped talking abruptly, as if he'd realized he shouldn't be discussing the case with me. I tried to look disinterested, though I was burning to know what the lab results could be. We turned a corner and the man pointed to another hallway.

“Down there and to the right,” he said.

“Thank you very much.”

I straightened the shoulder strap of my purse and surged ahead, hoping I had a chance of finding Detective Aragón. As it happened he found me.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

I turned. Tony Aragón had just come out of a door I had passed. He was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans and smelled of cigarettes.

“Good evening to you as well, Detective,” I said, trying to keep my voice pleasant. “I heard Katie Hutchins was here giving a statement. I came to offer her a ride home.”

His dark eyes narrowed as he gave me a measuring look. “Yeah? Well, you're going to have a long wait. She's not going home any time soon.”

I felt dismayed, but managed to keep calm. “Oh? Has she been arrested?”

“Why would I want to arrest a sweet old lady like her?”

His tone was sarcastic, but his gaze never wavered. I felt like he was some hunting animal measuring its prey, deciding whether to attack or leave me alone. I fell back on courtesy, my favorite defense.

“I don't know,” I replied pleasantly. “I rather think that would be up to you to explain.”

He gave me the silent stare with which I was becoming familiar. I gazed back, rather proud of myself for not flinching or starting to fidget.

“You can wait in the break room,” he said finally.

“Actually, I have a new piece of information to share with you, when you have a moment.”

“Oh yeah?”

He stared at me, then seemed to become aware that we weren't alone in the hallway. A couple of uniformed cops, coffee mugs in their hands, were watching with interest on one side, and my helpful blond friend on the other. Aragón glanced at all of them, then pushed open a nearby door.

“In here.”

I followed him into a small, barren room lit by utilitarian fluorescent lights. It contained a table and two chairs, all rather weatherbeaten. Nothing on the walls. Aragón sat on the table.

“Okay, what've you got?”

“Donna Carruthers and Vince Margolan are seeing each other socially,” I said.