Death of a Crabby Cook (19 page)

“Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to bed,” Aunt Abby said after the detective and his officers had left. She bagged up the leftover cookies and poured out the remaining coffee. “I didn't get much sleep last night. Not that I'll get any tonight either, what with everything that's happened. Darcy, would you mind staying in the house tonight?”

“No problem,” I said, and gave her a hug good night.

“Thank you,” Aunt Abby said. “You can sleep in Dillon's room or on the couch. There are sheets and blankets in the linen closet. Come on, Basil.”

“I'll be fine on the couch,” I said. No way was I going to sleep in Dillon's bed. With a rat—pet or otherwise.

“And I'll make sure everything's locked up before I leave,” Jake added.

Aunt Abby padded down the hall to her bedroom, her dog following behind her, then switched off the hallway light. I heard her door close.

I looked at Jake and suddenly felt awkward. “Would you like a glass of wine or a beer?”

To my surprise, he answered, “Sure, I'll have a beer,” and took a seat on one of the stools.

I checked the fridge and found a couple of Fat Tires—
Dillon's, no doubt—then joined Jake at the island counter. He twisted off the caps and handed me one of the beers. We both took a swallow, then both sighed as the alcohol began to hit our systems.

I laughed and felt the tension leave and my body begin to relax.

“What's next?” Jake asked. He took another swig of beer.

“What makes you think I'm going to do anything more? Nothing I've done so far has been of any help at all. In fact, it's just gotten my aunt and Dillon nearly killed. I think I'd better quit while we're still alive.”

“I'm starting to get a sense about you, Darcy, and I
know
you aren't going to quit looking for the killer. I just want to know what I can do to help.”

I smiled. From the earnest look in his eyes, I believed him. Jake was one of the good guys, no doubt about it—anymore. And while Dillon was doing what he could to dig into things, his help was limited, what with him disappearing all the time, not to mention being hunted by the cops.

“So what do we know so far?” Jake asked.

I reached for my purse and pulled out my notebook. Flipping to the page of suspects and motives, I made sure Jake saw the name at the bottom—his own—had been crossed out. He smiled.

I took a sip of beer before adding to my information. Then I wrote the following under Tripp's name, saying the points out loud for Jake's benefit:

“‘Running some kind of illegal document printing at a warehouse. Making fake IDs? For illegal immigrants?' Anything else?” I looked at Jake. He shook his head.
“‘Must have heard my cell phone ring and knew I'd seen his operations'—which reminds me. I have to change that ringtone!”

“I can do that for you,” Jake said. “Hand me your phone.”

I dug in my purse and pulled out my cell phone. Jake took it, tapped the phone a few times, then handed it back.

“What song did you use?” I asked.

He reached over and tapped the phone again. A police siren filled the air. “Now you'll definitely know it's your aunt.”

I grinned. “Very funny. That's going to drive me crazy.” I set the phone down, making a mental note to have Dillon reprogram it. “Now, where was I?”

“You're pretty sure it was Tripp?” Jake asked.

I nodded, then continued.

“‘Stole their cell phones, then called me with Aunt Abby's phone to lure me to the house—why?'”

Jake frowned.

“‘Left before I arrived—why?'”

I looked up at Jake. “None of this makes any sense. It all seems so random. If Tripp is the killer, what's his motive? Why the threats?”

Jake shook his head. “Well, as a former attorney, I know one thing for sure.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“Everybody has a secret.”

“Oh really? What's yours?”

“You already know. I was disbarred. That's not something I'm proud of or share with just anyone.”

I felt a little heat wave pass through me. Was I not “just anyone”?

“So, the question is . . .” Jake continued.

Uh-oh. He's going to want to know my secret. Am I going to have to tell him that I lost my job, my boyfriend, and my apartment and will probably be working in my aunt's food truck and living in an RV for the rest of my life?
Being disbarred was nothing compared to the loser life I was headed for. At least Jake was doing what he loved—creating artisan desserts and making people happy. What was I doing? Slopping sandwiches together and trying to find a murderer in order to stay alive.

“Darcy?” Jake said, startling me out of my depressing thoughts.

“What? Oh, sorry!” Apparently Jake had been talking to me and I hadn't heard a word he'd said after,
“So, the question is . . .”
“Uh, you were saying something about secrets.” I steeled myself for the end of his sentence, certain it would be
“What's your secret?”

To my surprise, he asked, “Yes. The question is, what secrets were Boris and Oliver keeping that led to their deaths?”

Phew,
I thought. “Of course!” I said. I looked at my notebook. “We know that Oliver hated the food trucks—that was no secret. And we know he threatened several of the owners. We also know his restaurant was in trouble. Was that enough to get him killed?”

Jake shrugged. “What about Boris?”

“We know he had a record for selling drugs. And he was working with Tripp in some way—maybe selling fake IDs through his truck? We know he and the vegans didn't get along because of his exotic meats and he had a crush on Willow. But again, was any of that enough to cause his death?”

Jake shrugged. “Who knows why people kill other people these days. Some of my best friends are defense attorneys who defended jealous boyfriends who murdered their girlfriends, drug dealers who killed other drug dealers, even guys who shot people over parking spaces. Maybe we'll never know the truth about those two.”

“I can't accept that,” I said. “All behavior is motivated. I learned that being a reporter for the
Chronicle
. It's just that some people keep their motives hidden better than others. And if I don't find out what happened to Oliver and Boris, the same thing could happen to my aunt or anyone else who had a connection to those two.”

“So like I said, what do we do next?”

“We?”

“Why do you think I'm still here?”

“Oh, uh, well, I think we need to find out more about Tripp, maybe take a look in that warehouse. Get some evidence for Detective Shelton. Then find out how he distributes the IDs—if that's what he's doing—and who pays him, and how involved Boris was in all of this. We still need a connection to Oliver. Maybe I can find out more from his sister . . .”

Something suddenly occurred to me.

“Darcy? I know that look. What is it?”

I blinked. “I was just thinking. . . . I saw Livvy earlier tonight after I left you. When I was about to pull out of the parking lot, I spotted someone across the street at Bones 'n' Brew. Whoever it was—Livvy?—was taking out a couple of bundles of trash, so I drove over to talk to her. When no one answered the back door, I went in calling her name. She didn't answer, so I went on down the hall to Oliver's office—”

“Wait a minute. You went in there
alone
?” Jake asked.

“Yeah . . . like I said, I wanted to talk to Livvy.”

“You realize that restaurant was the scene of a murder. Who knows what could have happened to you. Everyone knows the killer returns to the scene of the crime at some point—at least on TV.”

I hadn't thought about that at the time. The only thing on my mind was finding out more about Oliver. I hesitated to continue telling Jake what happened.

“Go on,” Jake urged, still frowning.

“Like I said, when I didn't see anyone, I went to Oliver's office.” I glanced at Jake's disapproving face. “Don't worry. Nothing happened. The killer wasn't hiding inside, waiting for me.”

“But Darcy, something
could
have been,” Jake argued. “You should have called me. I would have gone with you.”

I chugged the last of my beer. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story?”

“Yes,” Jake said.

I took a deep breath. “The office had been ransacked. All the drawers were pulled out, some of them dumped over. Papers were everywhere. Someone had obviously been in there searching for something.”

Jake groaned. “Darcy! They could have easily still been in the restaurant. I hope you got out—fast.”

I pursed my lips, then said, “Not exactly.”

Jake rolled his eyes.

“I would have,” I explained, “but just then Livvy appeared. She said she'd found the office like it was and suspected the same thing—that someone had been looking for something. I asked her if she'd called the police
and she said she was about to. Then she came in and shuffled through the papers. When she tried to shut the top drawer of Oliver's desk, it wouldn't close, like it was stuck on something.”

“She shouldn't have touched anything,” Jake said, his lawyer persona coming through.

“I know. But when the drawer wouldn't shut, she found out why. A packet was taped underneath the drawer and it had come loose. That's what was keeping it from closing.”

“What kind of packet?” Jake asked, suddenly interested.

“A big manila envelope. She opened it, and it was full of recipes. She recognized them and said they were Oliver's secret recipes. Apparently he'd kept them hidden from everyone, including his own sister, because he was sure someone wanted to steal them. She thinks maybe those recipes were related to his murder.”

“Killed over secret recipes?” Jake said, disbelief in his voice. “Sounds like an episode of
Castle
. Does she suspect anyone?”

“She didn't say. I told her to call the police. Then I got that phone call from my aunt—or at least, my aunt's phone. I felt bad leaving, but what could I do? I figured the police would be there soon.”

“You both should have gotten out of there. The guy could easily have been hiding somewhere in the restaurant.”

“I know, but obviously he wasn't, since we never saw him.”

“That doesn't necessarily mean he wasn't there,” Jake said.

Jake was right. But it was too late now to speculate. If I'd had time to think things through at that point I might have, but I'd been caught up in the moment.

“Then, when I got to my car, someone had flattened all four tires. I had to take a cab to my aunt's house.”

Jake rubbed his forehead. “Darcy!”

A thought occurred to me. “That's odd.”

“What? That someone deliberately stuck your tires?”

“Yes, but no. Something Livvy said. She said she'd only just arrived at the restaurant and found the office the way I had—turned upside down. But later she mentioned that she'd been there at least an hour or so. And I'm pretty sure she's the one who took out the bags of trash.”

“So?” Jake asked.

“I don't know. It just seems like an odd mistake to make.”
Why would she lie?
I wondered. I thought about the trash bags. Did she toss out something that might have been related to Oliver's death? Something she found in his office before I arrived? Something embarrassing for him? Maybe she ransacked the office just to make it look like someone broke in and was looking for something herself. The recipes?

I checked the clock: a little after ten. “I don't suppose you want to do a little investigating for me,” I said to Jake.

“Like what?”

“I'm pretty sure Livvy took out those trash bags a few minutes before I arrived. Maybe there's something in there she doesn't want anyone to find.”

“You want me to go digging through her trash? At
this
hour?”

“It's not that late. And it's not illegal—is it?”

“Depends on the ordinance. Usually, once the trash is outside the building, it's public property, but if it's still on private property, it can be questionable. Still, that's really not my concern. I'm just not big on Dumpster diving.”

“Well, I'd go except I can't leave my aunt alone,” I argued. “Besides, I thought you wanted to help.”

Jake shook his head. “I was hoping you wanted me to stay over and help you protect your aunt.”

I grinned. “Is that what you hoped?”

“All right, I'll do it. But if I don't find anything, you'll owe me.”

“What'll I owe you?” I said, leaning in flirtatiously.

He cocked his jaw. “I'll think of something—don't worry. Now, lock up after I'm gone. Don't answer the door unless you know the person. And keep your cell phone handy. I want you to call me if anything—
anything
—happens.”

“Thank you!” I said, pulling back in victory.

Jake got off his stool and sidled up to me. Looking down at me, his face inches away from mine, he stroked a strand of my hair back behind my ear and studied my mouth. The suspense nearly killed me as my heartbeat went into hyperdrive.

“Just answer me one question,” he whispered. I could smell his delicious beer breath.

My own breath caught. “What?” I managed to say.

“What flavor of cream puff do you want in the morning?”

And then he kissed me.

•   •   •

The ring of the doorbell roused me from my dream about a witch cooking up a magical potion in her
cauldron. I sat up on the couch, startled at first by my surroundings. Then I remembered. I had slept on Aunt Abby's couch to keep her company. To my surprise, Basil was asleep on my feet, unaffected by the ring of the bell.
Great guard dog,
I thought. I checked the clock. Six in the morning? Who comes calling at six in the morning?