Grilled for Murder (11 page)

“I need to keep working, if it's okay.” At her nod, I continued. “A friend of the Berry family, a guy who lives in Chicago, was visiting the Berrys yesterday when I brought by some food for them. His name is Vincent Pytzynska and he was a friend of Erica's husband.”

“Jon Shermer.”

I kept slicing. “They'd gone to law school together up there.” I told her what Vince had said about Erica making him uncomfortable. “He said he'd stopped going out with them as a couple. But he seemed odd to me. I Googled him when I got home, and it turns out he's from around here, went to Brown County High School.”

“And?” She tapped her fingers on the counter and then folded her arms.

“Well, Erica went to South Lick High, and she and Vince must be about the same age. Being from away, you probably don't know the two high schools do lots of activities together. Sue and Glen Berry told me Erica had plenty of conflicts with people, even in high school. And I thought . . .” My thought sounded pretty lame, even to me. I glanced over at Octavia.

“You thought this Vincent might have come down from Chicago, found Erica the night of the party, killed her, and left her in your store.” She raised a surprisingly thick eyebrow.

I selected another tomato to slice. “He was acting very nervous, and I thought you might want to check him out. That's all.”

“I will. And you might not believe this, but we do appreciate alert citizens giving us ideas. As long as that's as far as it goes.”

“I'm not trying to interfere in your job.”

“I didn't say that, but Buck did let me know about your trying to assist with solving the murder last month. Let's be clear that's not going to happen this time.”

“It's not.” I pushed the slices to the side with the knife.

“Good. The South Lick police might have their own way of doing things, but the state police have very clear guidelines on the involvement of civilians in investigations.”

“How's the investigation going, anyway?”

“Nice talking with you, Robbie.” Octavia headed for the door.

“Likewise,” I called after her.
Huh. As if.

* * *

Buck wandered into the store at about eleven thirty. He hung his raincoat on the coat rack and shook drops off his hat before adding it to the hook. He slid down into a chair near the kitchen area, his long legs stretched out to the next county.

“Let me guess,” I called to him. “A double cheeseburger with everything, plus coleslaw and chips.”

“And a bottle of co-cola, if you don't mind.”

“I'm on it.” I threw two beef patties on the griddle and slid the halves of a bun into the warmer. After I set up his plate and scooped out a generous portion of coleslaw, I called over. “What kind of soda do you want?” I knew by now Buck called all soda pop
co-cola
.

“Give me one of them root beers, will you?”

I brought him the bottle from the drinks cooler and a straw. He never wanted a glass for it.

He glanced around. “Danna not working today?”

“She is. She just had to run down the street to the bank. So how's it going?” I asked.

“All right, I guess,” he said, stretching out the first two words into about five syllables.

“I was surprised you didn't come by for some breakfast this morning.”

“Robbie, now I can't be stopping by every whipstitch.” He grinned and shoveled in a bit of slaw.

I could tell he was trying to fool me with the local expression. “You haven't been here since yesterday. I wouldn't call that too often.”

“Yeah, anywho. Octavia called a meeting lasted half the morning. Least she had the decency to order in some donuts. But they don't stick to your ribs much, know what I mean?”

“I do. They're delicious, though. How can you lose with what is essentially deep-fried cake?” I went over and flipped the meat, laying a slice of cheddar cheese on each. I refused to stock American cheese even though customers occasionally asked for it. It wasn't a real food, more plastic than cheese.

A moment later he had his lunch and since the place was empty, I plopped down across from him. “Any news on the investigation?”

“You know Octavia don't want us talking to the general populace about it.”

“It's been almost three days, though. You guys need to solve this thing.”

“It needs solved, all right.” He crunched down a few chips.

“You can't even tell me if you're close to an arrest? I'm hardly the general populace, after all. I'm the owner of the place where her body was so unkindly left.”

He shook his head so slowly it looked like he was underwater. Then he leaned toward me. “We had Tiffany Porter in yesterday,” he said in a low tone. “She really didn't like Erica none.”

“Apparently nobody did except Erica's immediate family. And even they say she was difficult. But do you think Tiffany killed her?”

“Ain't up to me to decide. Them staties have taken over. They got their evidence and all.” He scrunched up his face and squinted through one eye for a second, then let it go. “I can tell you it was your press which whacked her upside the head. Or one of the things that whacked her. They found the press in a Dumpster.”

“Really? Octavia didn't tell me. Where was the Dumpster?”

“Over in the alley on Morgan, behind the row of stores where Tiffany's store sets.” He swiped at a dollop of ketchup next to his mouth.

“Which is bad for Tiffany, I'd guess.”

“Could be.” Buck finished the last bite on his plate. “Say, when are you going to start offering pies around here? I'd sure love me a piece of sugar cream pie.” Buck got a dreamy look in his eyes as the door jangled.

“I can ask Phil if he'd rather bake pies, but I think he likes the easy desserts where you can do a whole pan at once.” I rose and waved in several customers. “Sit anywhere,” I called. I leaned in toward Buck. “Let me know if you find out anything else?” I said low enough so only he could hear me. “At least about my press?”

“I'll do what I can,” Buck said. He handed me a twenty and fitted his hat back on his head.

I dug in my apron and handed him his change. He ambled over to the Tips jar and slid it all in.

“Buck, you're too generous.” I smiled.

“Got to keep the cook happy.”

“Well, thanks.” I grabbed menus and carried them to the newcomers, hearing the bell jangle behind me as Buck left.

As I headed back to the kitchen area to get their waters, I saw Sue Berry standing in front of the door holding a dripping umbrella. She must have come in right when Buck left. Her blue thigh-length jacket was also wet.

“Sue,” I said, walking toward her. “How are you doing?” She looked so forlorn, I took her free hand and squeezed it. “You want to sit down? Are you here for lunch?”

“No, thanks, hon. Well, actually, I could use a cup of coffee.” She glanced around. “What should I do with my umbrella?”

Another local way of speaking was the way folks said
um
brella, with the stress on the first syllable. I pointed to the cylindrical can near the door. “That's an umbrella stand; you can pop it in there.”

She deposited it, shrugged out of her jacket, and took a seat at a table away from the other diners. I hurried to pour her a mug of coffee and took it over.

“Let me grab those people's orders and I'll be right back.”

“You take your time, now.” Sue barely looked at me.

After I'd jotted down what the customers wanted, I threw two turkey burgers and a beef patty on the griddle and set up three plates before I returned to Sue.

“You're not doing too well,” I said in a low voice.

“I'm not. Not at all. And the heavens are crying for Erica today, too.” Her eyes were reddened and her nose was red, too. “But I came by to tell you Erica's funeral will be tomorrow afternoon at one o'clock at Our Lady of the Springs. We're going to have a gathering at the house afterwards, too, and I sure hope you can come.”

“I'll be there.” If I could get someone to help Danna, that is. “Do you need help with the food?”

“You're real kind. But no, a friend from church does catering and offered to do up the refreshments for us.

“Is there a viewing?”

She shook her head.

I waited. I needed to get back to the griddle, but I wanted to let her say what she needed to.

“I'm so glad we threw that party for her.” She gazed up at me and swallowed. “We need to appreciate the living while we have them.”

Chapter 14

Lunch ended up as busy as breakfast had been. Danna and I had cleaned up after we closed at two thirty, and she'd headed home at three, as usual. I could have used a nap, but I wanted to get the day's considerable cash to the bank, and realized I still had Sue's check from the party on Saturday to deposit, too. In my apartment, I changed into clean jeans unspattered by pancake batter and beef grease, and threw on a fleece sweatshirt. Pulling aside the bedroom curtains, I saw it was still raining.
Ugh.
And my indoor-outdoor thermometer said it was barely fifty degrees, to boot.
Double ugh.

But the bank was only a few blocks away on Main Street, and it didn't make much sense to drive. I needed some fresh air, anyway. I pulled on hiking boots and my yellow rain jacket, and grabbed my wallet and keys. As I reached for the extra-large umbrella I'd gotten from First Savings Bank when I'd opened my business account, Birdy ran over and mewed at me.

“Sorry, buddy. I don't have a kitty-sized
um
brella for you.” I laughed as I reached down to pet him. “I don't think you want to go for a walk in the rain, anyway.”

He cocked his head, and then with great urgency began to wash his tail, biting at a spot before licking it over and over.

Outside I snapped open the green-and-white umbrella and made my way to the bank. As I filled out the deposit slip, I glanced at the date they so handily posted in big letters and numbers in a metal case. I wrinkled my nose. Tomorrow was December first. Adele's birthday, for which I was completely unprepared.

I waited in line at the bank to make my deposit. A slender woman with a blond ponytail threaded through a ball cap finished her transaction and turned toward me.

“Christina,” I said with a smile. “What are you doing in South Lick?”

“How's it going, Robbie?” She gave me a hug and then stepped back. “I'm cooking at the new restaurant in town, Hoosier Hollow. I'm head chef, in fact. Didn't I tell you? ”

“You didn't. I heard about the restaurant opening, of course.”

“You should come eat. I'll comp you an appetizer or something.”

“Sounds like a plan. What kind of cuisine are you featuring?”

“Elegant Indiana fare, if that isn't an oxymoron.” Christina laughed. “Gotta get back to it. Hey, the restaurant is closed on Mondays just like yours. Let's have some fun next week, okay?”

“You bet.” Good for her. She'd taken over my slot as chef at the Nashville Inn last winter after I left to work on my store. I imagined the fare at this new place would be a more interesting challenge for her. She'd grown to be one of my best friends in the area, but our schedules had clashed for the last year. Monday fun was going to be perfect.

After I made my deposit, I hesitated in front of the bank. I needed to get Adele a present, but what? She was in her seventies and didn't need more stuff. She read books, but we didn't have an independent bookstore in town and it was too late to order anything online. She didn't wear scarves, and she already possessed plenty of sweaters she'd knitted out of her own lovely yarn. As far as I knew she didn't use perfume or scented anything.

I kicked myself for letting the date sneak up on me. She did so much for me, and hadn't forgotten my birthday once in twenty-seven years. Rain dripped steadily off my umbrella and caught the colored light from a store across the street, so it almost looked like flowing blown glass. I snapped my fingers. Adele's one personal indulgence was earrings. She wore her hair short and sensible, but she loved long, dangly earrings. The more exotic, the more brightly colored, the better. Tiffany's jewelry shop was right over on Morgan Street. She must have earrings for sale. Handmade and local were a plus. And maybe she'd talk more about Erica. I couldn't stand having the puzzle of Erica's murder not solved.

I stood in front of Porter Jewelry and Gifts a few minutes later gazing at windows decorated for Christmas. Silver garlands and puffy white cloth showed off colored glass ornaments, racks of bracelets, and wrapped gift boxes. The shop was housed in a row of stores in a restored Art Deco building, the style of many of the downtown structures, and I realized it was only a block away from where Jim lived upstairs in a similar building.

I pushed open the door of Tiffany's shop and a single chime sounded. Tiffany stood behind a glass display case at the back of the space arranging something inside it. The inside of the store was as festively decorated as the front window, but she had such a lovely array of wares for sale it would have looked celebratory even without the twinkling lights. Small figures of women in fanciful dresses flew on fishing line from the ceiling, as did brilliantly colored enameled butterflies. The walls featured glass shelving holding vases, picture frames, and painted boxes. Framed artwork and mirrors with decorated frames lined the rest of the wall space. A counter was lined with racks of earrings and bracelets, and the air smelled faintly of vanilla.

“Welcome,” Tiffany said without lifting her head, and then glanced up. “Hi, Robbie.”

I returned her greeting. “What wonderful things you have. I can't believe I've never stopped in here.” I gazed up at the flying women. One wearing a blue sundress held a yellow kite, the kite's wire tail decorated with bows in all colors. Another figure flew with an unfurled green umbrella in one hand and a tiny open book in the other.

“Thanks. Aren't those great?” She shut the display case and pointed to the figures. “They're called Annie's Angels.”

“I love them. How long have you had this store?”

“I've been here about five years.” Tiffany straightened a small basket of tiny silver Buddhas on the counter, righting one after another back to sitting.

“I guess I haven't been out shopping much. I only moved here last winter. I was pretty immersed in renovating my store and then opening early last month.”

“Your store is a great space,” Tiffany said. “You did a good job with it. Now, what can I help you with?”

“I need a birthday present for my aunt.”

“Adele?”

“You know her?”

Tiffany pointed to a hat tree in the corner covered with rainbow-striped knit caps in several designs. “I've been selling the hats she makes for a few years.”

“I shouldn't be surprised. She does seem to know everyone. I think I want to get her some earrings.”

“These would look great on her, with her short hair and all.” She showed me a row of long earrings worked in three metals, with colored glass beads added in. “I make them myself, you know.”

“Those are really pretty. Now I see them, I think one of those angels would be even more perfect for her.” I pointed to the ceiling. “Do you know if she already has one?”

“I don't think so. She always admires them but says her budget doesn't go as far as buying herself indulgences.”

“Sounds like Adele through and through. Then I'll indulge her.” I pointed to the one with the kite. “I'll take that one. I love how she looks like she's flying.” The figure's back was arched and her feet kicked up behind her.

Tiffany brought out a stepladder and used a special pole to gently lift the loop of clear plastic line off its hook. A minute later she had the figure carefully wrapped in tissue and packaged in a white box with her store logo on the side in gold. A row of bangles on Tiffany's arm jingling, she deftly tied silver and gold ribbon around the box and curled the ends.

“Perfect.” I handed her my credit card. I didn't even care how much it cost. “Now I don't have to wrap it.”

“We're a full-service gift shop.” Tiffany smiled back as she ran the card through the reader.

“So, I heard the police questioned you about Erica's death. How'd that go?”

The smile slid off her face and her nostrils flared. “Who'd you hear that from?” She slapped my credit card down on the counter.

“Buck Bird told me. I think he only said so because I'd told him on Monday I'd seen you in Bloomington the day before. He didn't tell me about the conversation or anything.”

“I can't believe they think I'd kill Erica. She was a manipulative, unscrupulous person. She stole from me and lied about it. But I didn't bash her head in, and I told the Slade woman as much. Over and over.”

“It's good they didn't arrest you,” I said, watching her.

Tiffany shifted her gaze away from mine. “Thing is, I live alone. I was home in bed, but I don't have any way to prove it. Living by myself, on top of being furious with Erica at the party when I saw her wearing the bracelet she stole, is making the detective suspicious. But there's no evidence against me. At least not that she said.”

* * *

I stepped out of Tiffany's with the handled bag she'd placed the gift in. So that made three of us—Tiffany, Phil, and me—who were home alone with no alibi the night of Erica's murder. I swore. It was raining even harder now. I huddled under the shallow overhang while I fumbled with the umbrella, finally getting it all the way open.

“Watch it, now,” a deep voice said from next to me.

I tilted the umbrella and craned my neck to see Max standing a little behind me to my right. “Sorry. Did I poke you?”
Where had he come from?

“Almost.” He wore a brimmed hat and the collar of his overcoat was turned up. He held the handles of a black canvas bag that looked like a cross between a briefcase and a tool kit.

“I can't see much under this umbrella,” I said.

“Been doing some shopping?”

“I did.” I held up my bag. “Tiffany has beautiful stuff in there.”

“She does. Hey, hope you'll be able to make it to Erica's service tomorrow.”

Max seemed to have changed personalities from when I'd first met him. A change coinciding with Erica's death. Maybe she'd been like a thorn in his foot and life seemed cheerier without her. It was an awful thought, that it might take someone's death to improve a person's mood.

“Sue came by and told me,” I said. “I'll be there. One o'clock, right?” A car drove by and nearly sprayed us both when it drove through a puddle. “I'd better be going before it rains any harder.”

“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” he asked. “It isn't much weather for walking.” He pointed to a big green pickup truck parked a couple of spaces down.

“Thanks so much. I'm headed back to the store only a couple of—”

“I know where your place is, Robbie.” He held out his keys and clicked the fob at the truck, which beeped and blinked its lights. “Hop on in.”

I climbed into the passenger seat and laid my wet umbrella on the floor. It seemed like a fairly new truck, but the dashboard was littered with odd bits of tools and cylinders of locks that looked naked outside the doors they belonged in. The floor mat sported a collection of crumpled White Castle bags, some bearing stains of ketchup and mustard from the hamburgers they'd held. An empty fries box lay there, too, with the chain's tag line of W
HAT
Y
OU
C
RAVE
in white letters on orange. I should probably come up with something equally snappy for my restaurant.

As we rolled down the street, I said, “Were you shopping somewhere, too?”

“Not shopping.” He laughed, a low rolling chortle. “I work right back there.”

“At the men's store?”

“Heck, no. I'm a locksmith. Guess you didn't know.” He glanced at me with a smile, then back at the road.

“Right. My aunt told me and I forgot. Have you been doing it long?” I turned a little sideways to face him.

“Most of my adult life, since I got out of the Army, anyhow.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Actually, it was the military who trained me in the trade.”

“You must have to pick locks for people who lock themselves out.”

“All the time. Or they go ahead and lose the only key. Who doesn't get copies made?” He shook his head and patted the canvas bag, which sat on the console between us. “I'm off right now to install a dead bolt for a lady who got her house broke into. Burglars got in with a credit card. Shee-it.”

“I've heard of that happening.”

We rode in silence for a block, then he said, “Somebody told me you're one of those crazy bicyclers.” Max glanced over. “The ones who ride around in a pack wearing ridiculous colored outfits, who take up the whole road.”

“I hope I'm not crazy. And actually I rarely ride in a group. I just like the exercise. And it clears my head.”

“I don't get the attraction.”

“How's Paula doing?” I asked.

“She's awful torn up about Erica.” He pulled his mouth to the side as he pulled up in front of Pans 'N Pancakes.

“Was she able to remember anything about Erica leaving the house that night?”

“I told you, she's a solid sleeper. She says she didn't hear anything. And having to be questioned by the police after her sister was killed really sent her over the edge.”

“What a shame.”

“It wasn't any fun. They took us all in separate, too.” His right index finger beat a rhythm on the steering wheel.

“I'm sure the police were only doing their job. Did they give you any clue about how the investigation is going?”

He cast a sideways look at me. “No,” he scoffed. “Why would they?”

“Just curious. I'm trying to figure out who would have killed Erica, although I'm not making much progress.”

“Really? You don't trust the police?”

“I'm sure they'll find the killer. But it's bugging me they brought my friend Phil MacDonald in for questioning, too. I know he never would have hurt her.”