Killer Gourmet (14 page)

“She called here just a minute ago and asked for you.”

Savannah shot Dirk an excited look. He perked up and even removed the cinnamon stick from his mouth.

“She did? That's great! I mean, it could be great, depending on what she wanted. Did she say?”

“She said she wants to talk to you right away. But she doesn't want her husband to know.”

“Did she say where?”

“Yes, she said she would be at the northeast corner of the park that's across the street from their stand. She said she'd wait for you until ten-thirty, because that's when her husband's going to arrive, and she has to help him get ready for the lunch crowd.”

“Call her back for me and tell her I'm on my way. I'll be there in five minutes.”

“There's just one thing, and she was really adamant about it.”

“What's that?”

“She said she'll only talk to you. Just you. She said specifically for you not to bring Dirk-o.”

Dirk visibly swelled. “She called me Dirk-o?”

“No. Actually she called you ‘that obnoxious police detective.' I thought I'd soften the blow a bit.”

“How kind of you.”

Savannah was already starting the Mustang and putting it in gear. “Thanks, babycakes. Call her the instant we hang up.”

“You got it.”

As Savannah peeled out of the parking lot, the red pony's engine whining, she told Dirk, “Hang on to your knickers, darlin'. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.”

S
avannah found Maria Ortez exactly where she said she would be, in the northeast corner of the park. She was sitting on a bench in the shade of a giant fig tree.

As Savannah hurried up to her, dodging Frisbees tossed by children and a couple of teenagers who were ripping through the park on skateboards, she noticed that the young woman looked scared and sad. Much as she had before, during their earlier interview, only worse.

Though she felt sorry for her, Savannah couldn't help being a bit optimistic. More than once she had cracked a case with evidence supplied by scared and sad informants.

It was the nature of the crime. Homicide was a frightening, depressing business, and there was no way getting around it.

The instant Maria saw Savannah, she jumped to her feet and glanced around nervously. So did Savannah. If Maria didn't want her husband to witness this meeting, neither did Savannah. The last thing she wanted to do was cause this young woman problems with her husband, whom she obviously loved very much.

When she and Maria met halfway in the center of the park, Savannah said, “Would you feel better if we were sitting in my car? It might be a bit more private there.”

Maria thought it over for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, okay.”

“It's right over here. Let's go.” Savannah led her to the Mustang at the edge of the park. She unlocked the door and seated her inside.

Once settled in the driver's seat, Savannah lowered the windows so they could benefit from the cool ocean breeze.

“I was very pleased to hear you wanted to meet me,” Savannah said, giving her a friendly smile. “Thank you for calling.”

“I had to,” Maria replied. “I can't stop thinking about it. I can't sleep. I'm so worried.”

“Don't you worry, sugar. You did the right thing by reaching out. After you and I talk, I'll betcha you're going to feel a whole lot better.”

She reached over and patted Maria's hand. She was gripping the seat cushion as though it were some sort of life preserver.

Savannah said, “Now you just take a deep breath, relax, and tell me what it is that's bothering you so bad that you can't sleep.”

Maria closed her eyes and shuddered. “I'm so afraid,” she said.

“I know you are. But you're doing the right thing anyway, even though you're afraid. That takes real courage. I'm very proud of you for being so brave.”

As the seconds ticked by and Maria said nothing, Savannah began to worry. Her fear might be too much for her, after all.

“Maria,” she said softly. “If you know something about that night, you have to tell someone. This is a very serious situation. A person lost his life at someone else's hands. It doesn't get any more serious than that.”

Finally, Maria spoke. “I don't know anything about that night—the night the chef was killed. But I know what happened three nights before that. And it might have something to do with him dying. It might. I don't know for sure.”

“Okay. You're doing fine. Please go on.”

“And my husband thinks so, too. But he won't tell you himself, because he's afraid that he'll betray his friend.”

Savannah could feel her pulse rate quickening. “Which friend?”

“Manuel Cervantes. He and Manuel have been friends for a long time. They're like brothers. Carlos would never do anything to get Manuel in trouble. And he would get very angry with me if he knew I told you this. Can you keep it a secret? The fact that I told you. Can you not let my husband find out?”

Savannah hesitated before answering her. She certainly did not want to lose this lead. But she couldn't lie to this woman with the soft, innocent, trusting eyes.

“I promise you that I'll try very, very hard not to let him find out. And, depending on what you tell me, I probably can. But either way, like I said before, this is murder. And bringing the killer to justice is the most important thing here. Your husband seemed like a good man to me.”

“He is. He's a very good man.”

“And he seems to love and respect you.”

“He does. Very much.”

“Then in the end, even if he finds out, he should understand and forgive you for doing what you think is best. Right?”

Tears filled Maria's eyes, but she nodded. “Yes. He will.”

“So, tell me what happened four days ago.”

Maria pushed her dark curls back from her forehead and cheeks and took a deep breath of resolve. “The chef had a meeting at his house—the big, fancy castillo down by the water.”

“Yes, I know the place. I was there this morning.”

“He told Carlos and Manuel to be there. And Francia. There were three servers, a bartender, and a busboy, too. I don't know their names, except for one server, Celia. She's Manuel's wife.”

“That's okay. Go on.”

“The meeting was to talk about the new restaurant. They had all been working together as a team at Villa Nuevo. But Chef Norwood told them that they were finished there and moving to ReJuvene. Most of them weren't happy about that. They liked working for Mr. Ingram. He's a very nice man—different from Chef Norwood. But wherever the chef went, they went.”

“I understand. Please continue.”

“They talked about the new restaurant, how it's a lot smaller than Villa Nuevo and how they would need to manage with a much smaller staff. Everything went fine at the meeting. But afterward—there was trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Maria's face flushed, and she stared down at her lap as she continued, “The chef sent Celia to the cellar to get him some more wine. Then, as soon as she had gone, he said he needed to go to the bathroom. He was gone only a minute or two when Carlos and Manuel heard Celia scream.”

“Hmmm. Not good.”

“They ran down to the cellar and saw Chef Norwood had one hand over her mouth and the other hand up her blouse. She was trying to get away from him, but he was very big, and she's a small woman.”

Savannah tried to hide her excitement when she said, “I can imagine. What happened then?”

“Manuel tried to hit the chef, but Carlos stopped him.”

“I should think most men would try to hit someone who was doing that to their wife.”

“Yes, but Manuel has to be careful. He isn't . . .” Her eyes searched Savannah's, looking for understanding.

“He isn't legal.”

“Right. Chef Norwood was a powerful man. He was rich. He was famous. And Manuel is an illegal worker with no papers and no money. He sends every penny he makes to his family in Mexico because they would starve without it. All he has in the world is his pretty new wife. And yet, the chef would take her from him, too.”

“I understand why that would make him very angry.” Savannah felt a sinking, sick feeling sweep through her. “And how did this awful situation resolve?”

“It didn't. Chef Norwood just laughed at Manuel, at his anger, at Celia for crying. He told him that as his patron, his boss, he should have gotten his ‘right of the first night' with Celia before their wedding.”

“What a hateful thing to say.”

“And to such a proud man as Manuel, who loves his wife so much. It was a horrible insult—to him and to his Celia.”

Suddenly, it felt hot inside the Mustang. Savannah felt as though she couldn't breathe, as if all the air had been sucked out of the vehicle, leaving the two women inside to suffocate.

She could feel her pulse pounding in her temple and a pain in the back of her head. The same area where Norwood had been hit.

More than almost anything in her career, she hated it when a case took a turn in a direction that she hadn't anticipated and didn't want.

Why did Lady Justice have to point her accusing finger at a nice guy like Manuel? Some might even say that he had an understandable reason to hate Norwood. Certainly, that didn't justify a murder, but . . .

Why couldn't her number one suspect remain Perla Viola?

Savannah turned slightly in her seat to better scrutinize the young woman sitting next to her. Maria's eyes were filled with tears, and she was still trembling like an oak tree's last leaf of the season.

Why had she stepped forward at this time and in this way? Savannah wanted to think it was because she was a virtuous soul, one who couldn't bear to see a killer get away with taking a life. And yet she seemed to care very much about Manuel and worried about what might happen to him.

“Maria . . . ?” Savannah asked, her eyes searching the other woman's, trying to see her soul. “Why are you telling me this?”

The young woman started to cry in earnest, deep sobs that seemed to come from a place very deep in her spirit. “I think it was wrong, me telling you. I should have done it for the right reason—to get justice for Chef Norwood. I wish that was why, but it isn't.”

“Then what is the reason?”

“Because I'm afraid for my husband. He didn't tell you or your policeman all of the truth. He didn't say that he saw Manuel walk away and go back into the kitchen that night. He wants to protect his friend. But
I
want to protect
him
. Carlos is my world. My everything. I couldn't live without him. And I was so afraid that when you found out he was lying, you would arrest him and take him from me.”

“Okay. That makes sense. I understand now.”

“And if he gets into trouble later, for helping his friend, you'll remember that I helped you, right? You'll remember and not hurt him.”

Savannah reached into the backseat and produced a box of tissues. “I'll remember,” she told her. “And I'll make sure that the authorities remember, too. Try not to worry.”

Maria took the proffered tissues and blew noisily into them. “Thank you, Savannah.”

“You're welcome, darlin'. You still did the right thing. And who knows, maybe you'll be able to sleep tonight.”

 

When Savannah dropped by Harbor Beach Park to pick up Dirk, he was doing pretty much exactly what he had been doing when she had left him there to go meet Maria. He was playing with kids and dogs.

She pulled into the parking lot, cut the key, and sat there in the car, watching him for a while.

“That's my
husband
,” she whispered, wondering at the words. “
Husband
. Wow, I have one of those now. Go figure.”

In spite of the warm day, he was still wearing his battered, leather bomber jacket. She knew it had to hinder his style a bit as he tossed a bright yellow tennis ball down the beach where half a dozen eager kids and a couple of black retrievers waited anxiously to catch it. Even from this distance she could see the sweat on his brow, and she knew he would be more comfortable if he peeled the coat off and dumped it on the sand.

But he wouldn't. And she knew why.

If he removed his jacket, the children would see his gun and holster. So Dirk would suffer the discomfort rather than alarm the little ones.

Yes, that was her husband.

Even if he was known among the adult citizenry of San Carmelita as a grouch, curmudgeon, and all-around grumpy guy, every kid and every animal in town that knew him loved him. And that mattered a lot more to Savannah than his sullied reputation among the disgruntled grown-ups.

“Kids and dogs can always tell whose heart is pure and whose ain't,” Granny had always said. And Savannah agreed with her, except for the amendment that Diamante and Cleopatra had insisted upon: kids, dogs,
and cats
can tell.

She sat quietly in the car a bit longer, watching as the retrievers returned the ball to him over and over, and he sent it soaring again and again. As she enjoyed the brief respite from the day's stress, she massaged the back of her neck, willing the pain to leave.

Since when did she get headaches?

She tried to remember if she had ever had a period like recent days when they had been less the exception and more the rule. Like everyone else, she might get sinus pain when the Santa Ana winds blew or a neckache if she slept in a funny position.

But this, like the dizziness, was a new development. And she didn't like it one bit.

Go to the doctor, dummy
, a voice whispered deep inside her mind—in fact, close to the region of her headache pain.
It might be something serious. You need to find out what it is.

“It's nothing,” she whispered back. “I'm tired. I haven't gotten enough sleep lately. My best friends had a murder take place in their kitchen on opening night. Duh. Is it any wonder I'm not feeling my best?”

But as she sat there, watching Dirk run effortlessly up and down the beach, she felt the leaden, aching fatigue in her own legs. It hadn't been that long ago when she could have run right beside him. But not now. Something was different about her body. Something was going on.

And if the ol' bod didn't knock it off soon, she just might have to listen to that nagging, headachy voice and make an appointment with her doctor.

“You're probably low on iron, or B-12, or B-52, or some darned thing,” she told herself. “Pop a few pills, and you'll be good as new.”

She climbed out of the car and began to make her way across the sand toward Dirk. But as she reached the halfway mark between the parking lot and the waterline, the dizziness returned with a vengeance.

She had to stand still and wait for the world to stop spinning around her.

“What in Sam Hill is going on?” she muttered as she tried to keep her balance.

As though from far away, she heard Dirk calling out, “Savannah? Savannah?”