Grilled for Murder (15 page)

Samuel stood, too. “I'll have Adele email you my nephew's phone number and email address,” he said to Jim. “I think I have it written down somewhere. Not that I could use the email. Like I don't use the Google.” He laughed. “Computers these days baffle me. They always have. I leave it to you young folks. My sweetie included.” He slung his arm around Adele's shoulder.

“Thank you, sir.” Jim rose and extended his hand to Samuel. “I really appreciate your help.”

“Don't forget your angel,” I said to Adele, but she was already wrapping it in the tissue.

“It was a perfectly delicious dinner, Robbie,” Samuel said. “We're much obliged to you.”

“Totally my pleasure. Easy and fun.” I glanced at Adele. “Now let me give you the rest of the cheesecake to take home, too.”

She made a stopping gesture with her hand. “You keep it. It's far too rich for us old folks to be having more than one piece a year.”

“You sure?”

Adele looked at the half-empty platter and back at me. “What the hey. You only live once.” She grinned.

Chapter 20

I wiped my hands on the dishtowel and hung it on the hook next to the sink. “Thanks for helping clean up,” I said to Jim, giving one last swipe to the drainboard with the dishrag. We'd done the dishes and pots in near silence. Every time I tried to comment on the dinner or the murder investigation, I got a monosyllable in return and finally gave up.

“Not a problem.” He rolled his sleeves back down and buttoned the cuffs with quick movements. “Think we could take a look at the article?” he asked.

So that was why he'd stayed. It sure hadn't been for the conversation. Something was going on with him, no question. I supposed I could simply ask him. But no, I'd let him tell me when he was good and ready.

“Sure, if Danna sent the link. Come on in here.” I gestured for him to follow me into the living room. It wasn't a big space, but I loved the tall windows looking out onto the old barn and the woods beyond. I'd furnished it with my desk, a small sofa, and an easy chair. The wood on the sleek coffee table and end tables shone, partially from the love Mom had put into crafting them for me. A big split-leaf philodendron I'd nurtured since high school reached for the ceiling in the corner of the room. Birdy, who'd made himself scarce when we were eating dinner, lay on the back of the sofa curled up in a sleeping ball of black and white.

I sat and scrolled through my email until I saw one from Danna. “There it is.” I clicked the link and pointed to the article on my laptop screen.

Jim sank to his knees on the floor next to my wheeled chair, his left arm around the back of the chair. His face came right above my shoulder and I was stunned by how intimate it seemed sitting this way. He smelled like himself again, but I still caught a faint trace of something sweet. I wanted to take his head in my arms, kiss it, stroke it. I know earlier I was doubting my feelings, but not in this moment. I wanted to—

He reached over to the touchpad and scrolled down in the article. I cleared my throat a little to calm down. This feeling obviously wasn't mutual. At least not right now. When he reached the end he sank back on his heels and then sat on the floor, knees up, resting his arms on them.

“Not much more than Danna told you.” He swore and shook his head. “Did Samuel send his nephew's name yet?” He gazed up at me.

I checked. “No, not yet. But they probably just got back to Adele's, and I imagine he has the information at his own house.”

“So I won't get it tonight.”

“I doubt it. I'm sure Samuel is staying over at Adele's. They do sleep together, you know,” I said. “But I'm sure he'll send it along tomorrow. Or have Adele do it.”

He looked at the floor again.

“Let me do a search for the reporter's name.” I tried several options, but didn't see anything new. “No luck there.”

“I'll have to wait,” Jim said.

“So.” I swirled the chair until I faced him.
The heck with waiting.
“You really never told me about your past with Octavia. Will you now?”

“You don't want to leave that alone, do you?” He shoved himself up to standing and stuck his hands in his pockets, gazing down at me. He didn't smile.

“No.” I smiled, instead, to soften my refusal to let go of the topic. “Did something terrible happen? Did you guys conspire to kill her husband or something?” I said lightly.

He let out a groan and sank down onto the sofa. “I told you we dated about ten years ago. She was going through her state police training in Bloomington. I'd recently moved back here and opened my practice after law school. We met at the contra dance and I fell really hard in love with her. Really hard. She's very smart, and she has a passionate side hidden behind her all-business all-the-time attitude.” He took off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

I winced. Like I wanted to hear about Octavia's passionate side. I watched him. So they'd met at the contra dance. Maybe Jim kept going to the dance hoping Octavia would show up again. Or out of nostalgia. I wished he hadn't taken me to the same dance. “What happened?”

“She was in love with me, too. We were both busy, but we spent weekends together, and that summer we went up for two whole weeks to Michigan's Upper Peninsula and stayed in a cabin her family owns.” He gazed at the dark window as if he could see the six hundred miles to Sault Sainte Marie. “I knew our time was short there, and I didn't even want to go to sleep because I knew it would mean I would miss out on hours of being with her.”

I waited. I was getting a bad feeling about this. But I waited.

“What happened was she was married when I met her,” he finally went on. “And she decided to go back to her husband. She's a few years older than I am—she must be forty by now. Her husband was twenty years older than her and wasn't in good health. She didn't feel she could leave him.” He finally met my eyes. “It broke my heart. I'd never loved anyone like that.”

“You're still in love with her.” It seemed so obvious I didn't know why I hadn't seen it before.

“I don't know. I've always wondered if it would have worked out between us once we'd gotten over the giddy phase. We never had the chance to try.”

“Have you seen her this week?”

He sank his face into his hands. After what seemed like a year, he raised his head and patted the couch next to him.

“Come and sit?”

The dread in my stomach was cold and hard, but I went to the sofa and sat. Not right next to him, but a foot away. I twisted to face him.

“I really, really like you, Robbie. You know that, right?” He reached for my hand.

I nodded without speaking. I let him hold my hand, my fingers shorter and broader than his long, slender ones. A faint haze of fine red hair coated the back of his freckled hand, a contrast to my smooth olive skin.

“I like the way we are together. I admire you and I love spending time with you.” He studied our linked hands, then looked up. “When you said Octavia was in town it stunned me. I hadn't seen her or heard from her in a decade, but all those old feelings gushed up like it was yesterday.”

“Have you seen her this week?” I couldn't help my voice coming out as if it were crafted of cold steel. I drew my hand away and rested it in my lap.

He gazed at me with sad eyes, then set his hands on his knees and sat up as straight as a piece of reinforcing bar. “I lied about the real estate guy.”

Guess I called that one right.

“Octavia spoke to me after Erica's service. I met her in Nashville for a quick drink after I left the Berrys'. That's why I was late getting here.”

“I thought you smelled like a woman's scent.” I clamped my lips together.

“All we did was have a drink, Robbie.”

And some kissy face, too, no doubt. I've never yet met a bottle of beer that gave off a sweet aroma.

“Does she know you've been seeing me?” I didn't let my voice wobble.

“I didn't tell her.”

“Nice.” I narrowed my eyes. “Is she still married?”

He examined his hands. “Her husband died last year.”

Birdy slept next to my right ear. He stirred a little and gave out a soft sigh in his uncomplicated feline dream. “Well, how lovely for you.” I stood, my very complicated feelings roiling inside me. Birdy opened his eyes and leapt to the floor in one movement, tearing into the kitchen.

“Robbie . . .” Jim reached for my hand, his eyes imploring me, but I took a step back.

“You go on and figure out what you want. Who you want. It's been nice knowing you.” I turned and followed Birdy. I didn't know if I was going to start bawling or smash a dish on the floor. Maybe both at the same time if he didn't get out of my house.

Chapter 21

I sat at the kitchen table with another finger of bourbon in a glass, the microwave clock reminding me with its 9:01 reading that I hadn't done any prep for tomorrow. Jim had slid toward the door as I faced the kitchen window, my hands gripping the edge of the sink.

“I'm so sorry, Robbie,” he'd said. “I'm so sorry.”

I hadn't turned to watch him leave.

Birdie sidled out of the hall and rubbed against my legs. Funny how things happen. It was only a couple of days ago I'd started wondering if Jim was the right man for me. Maybe I'd picked up his rekindled feelings for Octavia in the energy layer or whatever goofy New Age thing was most recent. I'd never been the kind of Californian to look for auras, or believe in crystals or homeopathy. Maybe there was something to feelings traveling in the public airspace, though. South Lick was a pretty small town, after all. Or maybe it was the rush of hormones aimed in someone else's direction. He'd seemed totally normal and attentive in Bloomington Sunday night. I realized I hadn't seen him again until today. He'd seemed kind of standoffish at the Berrys', come to think of it. And that was even before he'd hung out with Octavia. But, no, he'd said they'd talked after the service.

My doubting problem was solved for me, at any rate. My heart hurt, but not as much as it might have. At least he'd had the decency to tell me right off the bat, unlike what my rotten ex-husband had done while we were still married. And now I had another problem, hashing over why Mom had decided not to share my father's identity with me. Not before she died, not in the note, and not even in her will. She didn't expect to pass away in her fifties, of course. Who does? I carried the dustpan and hand broom into the bedroom and swept up the shards of glass, making sure no slivers remained to cut either Birdy's or my feet.

After I dumped the glass into a paper bag and put it in the trash—if only it was so easy to discard life's problems—I sat at the laptop again. I forwarded the link to the article to Adele and to Jim without any additional message. I was dying to read the article in depth, but I had prep to do. I took my drink into the restaurant, and let Birdie come along. Normally he wasn't allowed in the store—the Board of Health would have a cow, or worse, if they knew—but I could use the company right now. Birdie was delighted and began exploring every corner. The glow of the holiday lights gave him shadows to play with. And reminded me I still didn't have a replacement tree.

As I stood in the walk-in with my shaken-up life, I decided to shake up the menu a little, too. I spied a few baguettes I'd gotten for the party in case we ran short on food but I hadn't used them. I could offer a special French toast bake in the morning. Slightly stale bread was perfect for French toast. I pulled out the bread and eggs, then returned for half-and-half, butter, and pecans.

The repetitive motion of sawing the long loaves into inch-wide slices calmed my brain and helped me get Jim and Octavia out of there. No puzzle solving was going to change that situation. I wanted to think about the much more urgent question of murder, instead. It was already Wednesday night and no arrest had been made, as far as I knew. Unfortunately, instead of seeing the puzzle pieces in a clear, still pond, my thoughts were a murky roiling river after a downpour, with the muck stirred up after the storm topped by opaque, dirty foam.

I washed my hands and cracked eggs into a big bowl, enough for three large pans. I could triple a recipe in my head by now. I ran through the possibilities as I worked. The corrupt cop was new on the list of suspects. Vince was right up there, too. Tiffany and her argument with Erica qualified her. Who else? Max, maybe, although I didn't think he would do anything to imperil the life of his unborn baby, and for Paula to find out her husband had killed her sister would be a huge shock.
Paula.
She was the last person to see Erica alive, except for the killer—unless she murdered her own sister. Phil might still be under suspicion, but I would bet my entire business on his incapacity to harm anyone.

After I beat the eggs with the half-and-half, I added sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt and mixed it well. I reached for the Grand Marnier and added that, pouring a little into a glass for me to sip, too. When Birdie came over to investigate, I poured a bit of half-and-half in a saucer for him and set it on the floor. I was probably setting a bad precedent, but tonight I didn't care. I sipped the orange-flavored liqueur, then buttered each pan and began dipping the slices in the egg mixture. I arranged them, overlapping, in one pan after another. Too bad I couldn't line up all the suspects in an overlapping row and pick out the guilty one. I stilled my hands.

Wasn't Jim a suspect, too? He was also family, after all. The thought hadn't even occurred to me while I was feeling connected to him, fond of him. It was pretty obvious why it had now. But if he and Octavia were a number, that would be a major conflict of interest. Wouldn't it? Even without their having a drink earlier today, the simple fact of them having a past together should disqualify her from investigating him.

I resumed working, finishing off the three pans quickly along with the Grand Marnier. The comforting smell of cinnamon didn't do much to dispel the unease of an unsolved murder. I sprinkled chopped pecans over the top of the bake, covered the pans with foil, and carried them one by one back into the walk-in. As I cleaned up, I glanced at the clock and groaned. I should talk to Buck about Jim's relationship with Octavia as it pertained to the murder investigation. But it was almost ten o'clock. It wasn't an emergency, and I needed to get to bed. Calling him would have to wait for tomorrow.

* * *

The first customer to walk in the door the next morning, at seven sharp, was Octavia.
Just my luck.
Danna was about to wait on her when I held up my hand.

“I've got it.” Maybe I could slip some poison in her coffee. I grabbed the coffee pot in one hand and a menu in the other, and headed for the small table where she'd taken a seat. Octavia removed her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair. The first pan of French toast had finished baking and the warm cinnamon-spiced air smelled like anything but poison.

“Good morning, Octavia.” I handed her the menu. “Coffee?” I could rise above petty feelings with the best of them. At least for a while, and certainly for the sake of my business.

“Please.” She returned the menu. As with every time I'd seen her, her hair was a perfect cap, and she wore the same sensible slacks and blazer with her sensible black sneakers. Sure didn't look like a passionate package to me. “Can I get two poached eggs with whole wheat toast, no butter? And a bowl of fruit, whatever you have.” She gave me a half smile.

“Of course.” I poured her coffee and headed for the cookware shelves. Poached eggs. First customer ever to ask for that. Good thing I had a vintage egg poacher somewhere around here. I spotted it and carried it to the kitchen area. After I scrubbed it, I set the eggs to poaching, grumbling in my mind about prissy people who didn't think eating fat was good for them.

A couple of minutes later I set her order in front of her. She was focused on her phone, but I stood there until she glanced up and thanked me.

“How's the case going?” I asked.

“I can't discuss it with you, Robbie.”

I glanced around the store. Nobody else had come in yet. I sat opposite her. She gave me a disapproving look before dipping a corner of toast into one of the eggs.

“I learned something I think you should check into.” I rested my forearms on the table and leaned forward. “There's a corrupt police officer in Chicago who might have been having an affair with Erica. And they might have killed Jim Shermer's brother together.”

She blinked fast several times. Jim's name got her attention. “The brother who committed suicide. That's a lot of
mights
. How would it relate to Erica's murder?”

“What if Erica was blackmailing the cop about the murder, and he came down here and killed her?” I sat back, wondering how she knew about Jon's suicide if she hadn't been in touch with Jim for a decade. Wondering if Jim had lied to me about that, too. But no, of course she'd know. Because of Erica.

“How did you learn about this officer who might have known Erica and might have killed her husband?” Nothing seemed to ruffle this woman.

I stood. “There's an investigative reporter in Chicago looking into it. Ask Jim.” I headed back to the kitchen area glad I hadn't throttled her. Which would be wrong and illogical, of course. Jim wanting to be with her wasn't her fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. But the heart is rarely logical. For example, hadn't I doubted my feelings for him only yesterday? So why was I taking this thing so hard?

Abe pushed open the door and breezed in, followed by three other men. “Hey, Robbie,” he called with a big smile. He removed his white hard hat and waved it at me.

I blew out a breath. Time to focus on my livelihood. Customers. Food. Even handsome workmen. “Hey, yourself. Hi, guys. Sit wherever you want.”

The men, all electric company employees in work boots and green uniform shirts with the REA logo on the pockets, pulled out chairs, setting their hard hats on the floor next to them. Octavia glanced up from her phone and then looked away. I brought the coffee pot over to the guys along with four menus.

“Got the early shift today?” I asked as I poured.

“Sure do. Pole over in Gnaw Bone got hit by a car.” Abe shook his head. “Driving drunk on a Wednesday night. Go figure.” He glanced up at the Specials board. “French toast bake sounds perfect.” He wiped the corner of his mouth and grinned. “Got to clean up the drool. I'll take the special with two fried eggs and sausage. Please.”

I smiled right back. “You got it. How about the rest of you?”

Two of them ordered the same, except with bacon. The fourth, a gray-haired man with a sizable belly, slumped in his chair.

“I'll have the granola with fruit and skim milk, please. Doctor's orders.”

Abe leaned over and elbowed the man's arm. “You're a good man, pal. Always do what the doc says.”

The man groaned in return. “I pretty much have to. My health needs fixed. I sure don't want to have a heart attack. And he said if I keep up with the meats and fried foods, it'd be like I scheduled one.”

“Breakfast coming right up.” I walked the orders over to Danna.

A flood of customers kept us busy for the next half hour. Octavia paid and left, and a couple who'd been waiting occupied her table as soon as I wiped it down. The place was full when Abe's group finished and pushed back their chairs. Abe brought the bill with a handful of dollars up to the register.

“How was the bake?” I asked.

He rubbed his stomach. “It was out-freaking-standing. Probably too sweet and rich to have every day, but once in a while?” He whistled. “Really hit the spot.”

“You're not paying for your breakfast. I owe you from yesterday.” I handed him back the cost of his meal. “Here's the change for the other guys.”

He promptly deposited all of it in the Tips jar.

I shook my head. “Now come on, Abe.”

“You split it with Danna. I want, we all want, this place to succeed.” He stuck his hands in his pockets.

“Well, thanks.” I took a deep breath. “So, uh, about that dinner.”
Now I'd done it.
I could hear my mother's voice in my head warning me about rebound dates.

“Yes?” His eyes twinkled.

“I'd like to take you up on it. If the offer still stands.”

“Of course it does. I thought you'd never ask.” He turned serious, studying me. “This mean things are off with Shermer?”

“Let's just say I'm looking forward to dinner with you.” I smiled.

“Pick you up at six, then. I want to take you to the new place in town, Hoosier Hollow.”

“Today?” The word ended on a little screech.

“I like to
carpe
the hell out of the
diem
. So to speak.” His dimple was back as he slid his hard hat on.

“
Carpe diem
, it is. See you at six.” I watched him saunter out. What was I getting myself into?