Grilling the Subject (24 page)

No. If that were the case, then why hadn't Cinnamon and her crew found the cuff links in their first search?

“Emily, have you talked to the police? They'll need you to confirm Shane's alibi.”

“He didn't kill Sylvia.”

“Where was he that morning?”

“He was at the office. He always gets there by six
A.M.
Up and at 'em. The early bird gets the worm. He who hesitates . . .” She smiled. “That's Shane.”

“And you were where?”

“At home. I . . .” Emily hesitated. Her eyes widened. “Oh my, you can't think . . .” She gasped. “You do. You think I killed Sylvia. I didn't. Jenna, I wouldn't have.” She stroked her stomach. “I couldn't have. I'm telling the truth. I was home, sleeping. With the baby almost due, I need my rest. I . . .” She gripped my hands; she was trembling. “You have to believe me!”

E
mily pleaded with
me for a full five minutes. Tears spilled down her cheeks. At one point a nurse asked if Emily needed a sedative. Was the baby coming? Did she need to lie down?

In the end, I believed Emily when she vowed she did not kill Sylvia. Was I the most gullible person in the world? Possibly.

I returned to the cottage, changed out of my now-reeking cream-colored sheath, and donned jeans and a three-quarter-sleeved, sky-blue sweater. I put on dangly seascape earrings, spritzed myself with perfume, and nabbed Tigger. We sped to the shop. Both of us could eat there.

For the first two hours, Aunt Vera hovered around me like a mother hen. She rubbed her amulet and checked my aura, which was plenty pink. Every so often, she asked if I was okay. I assured her I was. I was shaken but not stirred. She asked after David, too, and I told her what I could. He was in a doctor's care. He was stable. She said it had been
good seeing him again, even though—her words—
the poor boy is definitely suffering
. According to her, his aura was black, which is not good. Black indicates illness and negativity. Not surprising, given the circumstances.

Midmorning, after setting out food for Tigger, I called the clinic. David needed to stay for observation. The doctor wanted to make sure there was no injury to his brain from the fall. I reminded him that David hadn't struck his head on the floor.

“We're being cautious,” he told me.

I asked about David's ammonia breath.

The doctor murmured, “It's nothing,” but I knew it was. I'd Googled it. David's single kidney was failing.

Aunt Vera swept past me and said, “Don't worry. I'll see that all expenses are handled for him.” How did she know that the bills for his stay at the clinic could be an issue? I hadn't revealed that David had no insurance.

“Bless you,” was all I said.

Around lunchtime, Bailey showed up with a plate of mini grilled cheese sandwiches and a side of barbecue sauce that she had scored from Katie. “Comfort food soothes the soul,” she said.

I blessed her, too, and dove in. When was the last time I had eaten? Cookies at midnight?

Right before closing, while I filled six gift bags with copies of
Absolutely Chocolate: Irresistible Excuses to Indulge
, one of my favorite chocolate go-to books, with fifty-five full-color pictures and over one hundred mouthwatering recipes—a customer had purchased them for her cooking club pals; they were celebrating the club's tenth anniversary—Bailey joined me behind the sales counter and looped an arm around my shoulders. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm a wreck.”

“Have you called Rhett since you hung up on him?”

“Oh gosh. Rhett! Where's my purse? I need my cell phone.”

“I'll get it for you, and when you're done apologizing
profusely, come to the café's kitchen.” She hooked her thumb. “Katie and I are making you dinner.”

I finished the sale, closed the shop, and settled into a chair in the children's corner. Tigger snuggled into my lap as I dialed Rhett.

He answered after one ring. “As I was saying, how's your husband?” His tone was light, but I could hear the concern. Sound whooshed around him.

“Are you in the car?” I asked.

“Driving home. Let me roll up the window.”

When he did, the quiet was unnerving. A shudder shimmied down my back.

“I'm so sorry for hanging up earlier,” I said. Quickly I explained what happened: David's fall, racing to the clinic, the vague diagnosis. “Rhett, I haven't asked him for a divorce yet, but I'm going to. The timing . . .” I hesitated. “I know it's no excuse, but the timing hasn't been right. I intend to do it. I love you.” The words flew out. Easily. Truthfully. “I love you,” I repeated, “and I don't want you to think—”

“Shh,” he whispered. “We're good. I'll touch base when I'm a few miles away.” He blew me a kiss and hung up.

*   *   *

The regular kitchen
staff—the sous chef and the assistant chef—tended to the meals that were to be served to customers in the main dining room while Katie prepped for our meal. The aromas were divine: grilled onions, crisp bacon, savory sauces. My mouth moistened with anticipation.

The chef's table, where once a week Katie treated her favorite customers to a specialty dinner, was located in the far corner and covered with a simple white tablecloth and preset for three, each with multiple forks, knives, and spoons, which meant—yippee!—we were having a tasting menu featuring mini morsels of goodness. Katie, true to her organized nature, had printed out a menu on white cardstock:

Watermelon margarita

Tomato-corn salad, seasoned with white wine vinegar, lemon, and sugar

Mini filets, served with a peppery barbecue sauce

French fries topped with chili

Green beans with crunchy bacon bits and fried onions

Two choices of dessert: peach pie tartlets topped with vanilla ice cream or apple pie tartlets with a wedge of cheddar cheese

“Both of you, put on aprons,” Katie said as she started slicing onions and adding them to a sauté pan laced with hot oil.

We obeyed.

“Bailey, you trim the string beans and set the bacon in the skillet. Jenna, take care of the margaritas. The potion is made. It's in that pitcher.” Katie pointed to a two-quart glass pitcher standing on a counter next to a trio of martini glasses. “Rim each glass with a light dusting of salt.” She showed me how to do the first glass by wetting the rim of the glass and dipping it into the layer of salt she had poured into a pie plate.

Katie let me have the honor of taking the first sip of the margarita. Sweet, salty, and oh so tasty. Just what the doctor ordered. Thinking of the doctor, I wondered how David was doing and called the hospital. A nurse said David was sleeping and shouldn't be disturbed. I asked for an update. She hesitated. I explained that I was his wife. I must have sounded iffy about that, because she put me off and said she would have the doctor call me. I hung up, slightly peeved.

Bailey squinted at me. “Don't go there.”

“She thought I was lying about being his wife.”

“Cut her some slack,” Bailey said as she turned over the bacon using a pair of tongs. “The clinic is super busy. I heard there are a whole slew of injuries because of the Wild West events. A horse kicked someone. A wagon train rolled over
a person's foot. Here, take over for me.” Bailey brandished the tongs at me and handed me a pair of kitchen mitts.

I'd never fried bacon. Tentatively, I approached the sauté pan. The bacon was bubbling in its own grease. Nothing was spitting. The aroma was heavenly and reassuring.

Bailey continued, “By the way, speaking of the men in your life, did you get hold of Rhett?”

I quickly filled her in.

She smiled. “Glad to hear you've mended that fence. Don't fret about David right now. He's in good hands.” She crossed to Katie. “What can I do next?”

“Dice the Roma tomatoes on the cutting board.” She handed Bailey a serrated knife.

While Bailey did as ordered, Katie chopped green onions, cut fresh corn off the cob, and made her super-secret salad dressing. When she put everything in a bowl and started to toss, she said, “Jenna, turn off the heat, then set the bacon on that plate lined with paper towels while you tell me about the fire at your place.”

I glanced at Bailey.

She shrugged. So much for secrets.

I enlightened Katie, from the moment David spotted the fire to the moment when the fire trucks left.

“And the firemen thought whoever set it did so as a prank?” she asked. “That it had nothing to do with you, um, investigating?”

“I'm not—”

Katie grinned and elbowed Bailey.
Gotcha.

I huffed. “Cinnamon doesn't believe I'm being targeted, and most likely she's right. I mean, what do I know? Next to nothing. Sure, I went to the scene of the crime and found a few things like a cuff link and red fabric, and yes, I've seen Ava's diary, and I've learned all sorts of tidbits from Emily and Tito and even Mrs. McCartney, but I have no proof of motive for any of the suspects.”

“Who's on your list?” Katie asked.

“Shane Maverick, Ava Judge, and D'Ann Davis, unless her alibi holds up, and then there's Ronald Gump, who seems eager to get rid of Sylvia's store and move on.”

Bailey said, “Wasn't Ronald in bed asleep at the time of the murder?”

“According to him.”

Katie said, “That Shane. He's a real looker, and he has a roving eye. At the food truck event, I saw him flirt with every woman who walked by. What's his motive, Jenna?”

“I'm not sure, other than hoping Sylvia would keep quiet about their affair.”

“They had an affair?” Katie gawped.

“He's had a few.”

“How long have you known him? Has he always been this way?”

I shrugged. “I don't remember him being a playboy at Taylor & Squibb, but then he didn't look like he does now.”

Bailey said, “Me, either.”

“Did Emily know about the affair?” Katie asked.

I nodded.

“Do you think, out of jealousy, she might have killed Sylvia?”

“She's shrewd,” I said.

“
Downton Abbey
shrewd,” Bailey added.

Katie clucked her tongue. She knew exactly what Bailey was referring to. She owned the boxed sets of all of the seasons of
Downton Abbey
and watched them repeatedly.

“Don't rule out Ava when it comes to jealousy,” I said.

“Ava?” Katie plated the summer salads on gold-rimmed white porcelain plates and handed them to me. She hitched her head toward the chef's table, and then she retrieved a pair of kitchen shears and started cutting the bacon into small bits. “Why would she be jealous?”

“Because she's in love with Shane.” I set the salads in the center of the table and returned. “They had an affair, too.”

“Wow. Does Emily know about Ava?”

“Yep.”

“What's Emily's alibi?” Bailey asked.

“Like Ronald, she claims she was in bed. It sounds reasonable. It was early. Shane had left for work.”

“Speaking of Shane,” Bailey said. “Jenna, you said that you ran into him near the crime scene.”

“True, but he wasn't the one who was stalking me.”

Katie raised an eyebrow. “Stalking you?”

“Do you remember how I was on edge and feeling like I was being watched? So, there I was at the crime scene.” I described the
crackle-snap
; the rumble of the engines below; seeing D'Ann's assistant; running into Shane seconds later. “It turns out David was the one following me all that time. When he revealed that it was him on the hill, I put aside thoughts of Shane being a stalker.”

“Until he chased you down the alley,” Bailey said.

“What alley? When?” Katie's voice skated upward. “Sit. Talk.”

We settled at the chef's table and dug into our salads. Each morsel was crisp and zesty.

In between bites, Bailey said, “Tell Katie what David said about Shane being a Boy Scout.”

“So what if he can build a fire,” I said. “That doesn't mean anything. Heck, I can build a decent fire. Any camping enthusiast can.” My brother taught me at age eight how to build the perfect fire: constructing a tent-shaped structure over a pile of smaller tinder, then blowing the flame of a lit match onto the tinder without ever dousing the match. It only took ten matches to get the hang of it.

“But David's right,” I said. “There's something off about Shane other than being a rogue.” I forked a bite of salad. “I can't put my finger on it.”

We ate the remainder of our salads in silence, and then Katie bussed our plates to the sink and prepared the rest of the meal by herself. “What's D'Ann Davis's alibi?” she asked
while removing a tray of French fries from the oven. “Mind you, I enjoy her, so I'd like her to be innocent.”

I said, “Flora Fairchild saw her at the top of the mountain before the sun rose. She was helping Noreen Nutting carry her groceries inside her house.”

“Nurse Noreen?” Katie said. “I know her. She comes in here often for biscuits with a cup of chamomile tea. She is the sweetest lady in the world. She's the one who helped me out with Old Man Powers. She would never lie, so whatever she says goes.”

“Good to know,” I said. “If D'Ann was with her, then there's no way she could have killed Sylvia and made it that far in so short a time, especially since she was on foot.”

Bailey said, “Did Cinnamon confirm with Noreen that D'Ann helped her?”

“I would imagine she's done so by now.” I hope she had.

“What about Ava?” Katie asked.

“She's my main suspect for a couple of reasons. She loves that neighborhood. She would do anything to preserve it. If she believed Sylvia was hurting property values, she might have lashed out. If she was jealous about Shane dumping her for Sylvia—”