Triple Shot (16 page)

We were sitting at a deuce table, two lattes and the same of Tien’s delicious pecan rolls in front of us.

‘I’d be happy to do it, Maggy,’ she said. ‘I’ll need help, though, so I hope my dad can get past his aversion to our Mafia past.’

Calling it ‘our Mafia past’ might not be the way to start the process.

‘Do you know if anyone asked Luc for permission to shoot in the Ristorante?’ I uncoiled a section of the sticky bun and popped a buttery piece into my mouth.

Mmmmm, heaven. I’d say just like mother used to make, but my mom was more into unsweetened granola and wheat germ. Everything tasted like dirt.

‘Shoot?’ Tien frowned. ‘You mean like on Saturday?’

I nodded, given my mouth was full.

‘Maggy, I’m honestly not even sure who owns the place. Are you?’

I swallowed. ‘I guess I assumed your father did.’

‘No. At least so far as I know. But as witnessed by the other night, I don’t know much, even about my dad’s side of our family.’

‘If your grandmother just walked away from the property after your grandfather’s death, I suppose it’s possible the block reverted to Brookhills for back taxes. Or maybe the space was rented by your family and never owned. Either way, I get the impression your grandmother didn’t want anything to do with it.’

‘Ya think?’ Tien, so exotically refined, nevertheless could lob sarcasm with the best of them.

‘I think. I’ll ask Sarah when I see her at MaryAnne Williams’ open house this afternoon. If she was given the listing for the Ristorante, she’d have to know the identity of the seller. Or sellers.’

I expected another ‘Ya think?’, but Tien was chewing, so I received only a reciprocal nod of approval.

‘But back to tomorrow,’ I continued. ‘Elaine Riordan will be calling later to tell you a guest count and talk some menu.’

‘I hope she contacts me this morning. I’ll want to shop this afternoon, so I can begin cooking tomorrow – oh, wait, will she be coming in today with her tennis group?’

We both reflexively looked up at the three giant clocks that dated from the old depot. The one set for Brookhills said five minutes past ten. In other words, nearly half-an-hour before Barbie saturation.

I relaxed. Plenty of time to figure out how I was going to approach Gabriella Atherton. ‘Elaine doesn’t play with the Friday group, though you could probably reach her at the Historical Society rather than wait for her to call you.’

‘I think I will do that,’ Tien said, getting up and stacking our plates.

‘Hey, I’m not done with that.’ I salvaged my last bite – the prized center with the glorious pocket of gooey stuff in it.

Tien shook her head. ‘I know what to get you for Christmas, Maggy.’

‘Sticky buns for life?’

‘Sounds like the fitness infomercial from hell,’ a voice intoned.

My partner must have come in the platform door – the one without chimes on it. I should bell the woman the way a normal person would a bird-torturing cat. ‘Thanks for scaring me. And what are you doing here? This is your day off.’

‘Day off to work my
other
job. No rest for the greedy. What’s the film crew doing out there?’

Oops. ‘It’s Chitown’s people shooting footage of the waiting room for the show tomorrow. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Would it stop you if I did?’ My partner surveyed the plates in Tien’s hands. ‘All gone?’

‘There’s one in the bakery case.’

‘I suppose I should leave that for the customers,’ Sarah sniffed.

‘Why start now? And besides –’ I pointed at the glass-fronted cabinet – ‘Tien also made scones. They can have those.’

‘Works for me.’ Sarah pulled the last sticky bun from the case and brought it to the table.

‘We were just talking about you,’ I said as she settled into a chair at the next table, also a deuce.

‘And who could blame you?’ Like me, Sarah was uncoiling her sticky bun. Unlike me, though, she’d flipped the pastry upside down and was working counter-clockwise.

A sin against sticky-bun nature. ‘Who owns the Ristorante?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I’m an intermeddler. Work with me on this.’

Instead of answering, Sarah addressed Tien. ‘What else you got? Anything that will go with wine?’

‘Wine?’ Tien asked, looking at me.

I shrugged.

Sarah chewed the bun like a cow does cud. ‘I’m doing an open house at the Williams this afternoon and MaryAnne wants me to serve wine and snacks.’

Tien said, ‘Sounds like a fun way to sell a house.’

‘The crowd will all be nosey neighbors,’ Sarah replied. ‘Open houses always are.’

‘Then why schedule them?’ I asked.

‘The neighbors come, the neighbors go and then you’re done with them. Even they’d be embarrassed to waste your time by setting up a pretext appointment to see the place again.’

Made sense, I guessed. ‘What time does this shindig start? I’m planning to come.’

Sarah did a double-take. ‘Why?’

‘To prevent someone from shooting you. Is that OK?’

‘I suppose. But what if they shoot both of us?’

‘I’ll take my chances. Now what time?’

‘Four to six.’

Tien said, ‘So you’ll need finger food, Sarah?’

‘Gosh, I don’t know. MaryAnne is going to be at some design show this afternoon and won't arrive until five, but she told me there’d be wine in the kitchen. I figured to maybe just pick up a container of that spray cheese at Pick ‘n Save. And, of course, celery sticks.’

Tien and I looked at each other and then at Sarah.

‘What?’ she asked, looking somewhere between innocent and peeved.

‘Gosh,’ I parroted, ‘you’re splurging with spray cheese
and
celery sticks, why not break the bank and get a sleeve of Ritz crackers, too.’

Those being, admittedly, my cracker of choice with spray cheese.

‘It’s fine,’ Tien said. ‘Sarah, I have some things in the cooler that I think will work well with wine. I’ll put together a couple of appetizing trays.’

‘Shame on you, holding spray cheese over her head like that,’ I said to my partner after Tien disappeared into the kitchen. ‘You
knew
she wouldn’t let you embarrass yourself and besmirch Uncommon Grounds’ reputation, by extension. No matter
how
much she has to do for tomorrow.’

‘Why? What’s tomorrow?’

Dang. A couple more things, I’d forgotten to mention to my business partner. I filled Sarah in on the catering job, as well as our invitation to Ward Chitown’s live show and celebration afterwards.

‘Sure, I’ll come. What are they celebrating?’ Sarah was still eating and didn’t mind talking with her mouth full. In fact, she seemed to prefer, even revel, in it.

‘The end of the show? The discovery of the loot? Either way, I’m in.’ And wearing my red dress.

‘So, have you seen Pavlik?’

‘Yup. He’ll be at the party, too.’

‘And?’

Sarah took an interest in my love life – mostly because she thought I mismanaged it.

I said, ‘
And
he stopped over last night after work and I also ran into him at Sapphire later on.’

‘And?’

‘And, well –’ I could feel myself color up – ‘I was in the shower when he—’

‘Not that, you idiot,’ Sarah exploded. ‘What did he tell you? And I’m not talking about how you looked in Scrubbing Bubbles.’

Seemed uncalled for. ‘I assume you mean about Brigid?’

Sarah just glared at me.

‘He said that she was killed by a blow to the head somewhere else and then moved to the waiting room.’

I’d expected Sarah to be relieved but, if anything, she appeared more concerned. ‘Moved
here
?’

‘Not a bad spot, when you think about it. If that vent in the bathroom hadn’t conducted the smell, we might never have known there was a waiting area down there, much less that Brigid was moldering inside it.’

‘True.’ Sarah seemed to be chewing more on her thoughts than on her bun. Which was saying something.

‘OK.’ I finally asked. ‘What?’

‘“What” is the wrong question, Maggy.’ She looked up. ‘Someone killed my employee and then moved her corpse to this “secret” room in a building I own. The obvious question is, why?’

Chapter Fourteen

The obvious answer? To frame Sarah for the killing of an employee who ratted out her employer to the state board governing Sarah’s license to make a living. But even that begged the same question.

Why?

‘No idea,’ Sarah said, back to chewing before I posed a second observation.

‘Since it’s possible that Brigid was attacked while on the job, Pavlik thinks the three killings could be related.’

‘Well, duh.’

My day for sarcasm from everybody. How’s one supposed to brainstorm in the face of such judgmental put-downs?

Sarah took a break from her sticky bun. ‘So, does your sheriff like me for all three murders?’

Sometimes I wasn’t sure Pavlik liked Sarah at all, but I went with her cop jargon. ‘Not really. In fact, he was glad I was going to be with you at the open house. He said no realty agent should be in a property alone until we collar this killer.’

‘“Until
we
collar the killer”?’ Sarah repeated. ‘I just bet he said that. Besides, anything Pavlik tells you is probably to throw me off. Create a false sense of security in his primary suspect.’

She pushed her plate away, which might have been interpreted as loss of appetite if the thing hadn’t been virtually vacuumed clean. ‘Before long, he’ll have you wearing a wire.’

‘So he can listen while you kill me?’

‘Why would I do that? You’re not in real estate.’

‘Sarah, I hope the question by now should be, why would you kill anyone?’

The bells on the streetside door jingled before she could answer. Enter Gabriella Atherton, Jane Smith, and the blonde who had been with the group on Wednesday, when Brigid’s body had been discovered. Redhead, brunette and blonde – all wearing tennis whites. Missing was MaryAnne Williams.

‘I’m going,’ Sarah said, following me as I circled behind the counter to take the Barbie’s order. ‘Bring the food when you come.’

‘Me?’ In one fell swoop, Sarah had successfully suckered Tien into making the snacks for the open house and me, apparently, into delivering them.

‘Sure,’ Sarah said. ‘Why should I wait and then have to take them to MaryAnne’s or home until this afternoon when you can just bring them from here?’

Made sense. Damn it. ‘What time?’

‘The house opens at the stroke for four p.m. I’ll be arriving at three thirty, so you should be there by three forty-five, latest.’

I should and, of course, I would. This was Sarah, after all. Resistance was futile and, in this case, unnecessary. ‘Amy is relieving me at three, so that’ll work out fine.’

Gabriella Atherton was chomping at her bit on the other side of our service window. I wasn’t sure if it was because she resented Kingston Realty having the listing for MaryAnne’s house or because the competing broker just badly needed a jolt of caffeine.

As my partner went through the kitchen and presumably out the back, I addressed our customers. ‘Morning, ladies. How was your tennis today?’

‘Awful!’ This from Jane Smith. ‘First of all, Fox Ears requires white tennis attire, which eliminates most of my favorite outfits. Then MaryAnne and I lost at love and love.’

‘Georgia and I played that team a couple of weeks ago,’ Atherton said. ‘They kept lobbing us.’

‘And both of them stay back,’ the blonde contributed. ‘What fun is that?’

‘MaryAnne didn’t continue on with you for coffee?’ I began frothing skim milk in preparation for their drink orders.

‘No, she had to make sure everything is ready for the open house because she also has a design show today.’ Smith was holding a menu, which she’d been studying as she spoke. ‘Oh, I don’t know why I even look anymore. I’ll have my usual, Maggy.’

Ahh, yes. The latte that’s not a latte. How very Zen of her.

I made it first, then a flavored coffee for the blonde, saving Gabriella’s drink for last. ‘Iced latte?’

‘Please. Light on the ice.’

‘Of course.’ I tamped the espresso into the portafilter and then lowered my voice. ‘I assume you’ve heard that it was Brigid Ferndale whose body was found.’

‘I did.’ Instead of a chilly tone, Atherton leaned in conspiratorially. ‘I have to say I was a little surprised to see Sarah here today.’

Did she mean ‘instead of jail’? I would’ve asked, but I wanted information and knew from experience that you can catch more Barbies with honey or, more likely, Splenda, given their obsession with calorie-counting. ‘She’s very concerned, as I’m sure you are.’

‘Me?’

‘About the safety of your agents,’ I said, setting down the portafilter, rather than twisting it on the espresso machine. ‘You know: the three women who’ve been killed?’

‘Of course, I know.’ Atherton stared hard at our filter. ‘Luckily, none have been from my firm. I’ve been telling them to be very careful. Always work in pairs.’

I glanced back over my shoulder, as if I were making sure my partner couldn’t overhear. ‘What a double shame, then, that Brigid hadn’t made the move to Atherton yet.’

Atherton’s eyes could have ignited a brush fire. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, if you and she had come to an agreement on Monday night, Brigid might be alive today.’

‘Really.’ Neutral. Neither agreement or disagreement. ‘Aren’t you going to make my drink?’

‘Oh, sorry.’ I feigned surprise and twisted the filter on the machine.

‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘Brigid told me in confidence –’ another glance around for an invisible Sarah – ‘that she was interested in joining your firm.’

‘She did?’ Now one eyebrow went up. ‘Why would Brigid tell you that?’

‘Please.’ I pushed the button for the espresso and pulled the cold, nonfat milk from the refrigerator. ‘If anyone knows how difficult Sarah can be, it’s me.’

Forgive me, Sarah
. Though, it was undeniably true – just not a sentiment I’d share with Gabriella or anyone else for that matter. Sarah was like a hangnail. Annoying, yes; aggravating, often. But you never questioned the fact you had a hand.