Читать книгу The Trouble with Talent - Kathy Krevat - Страница 13

Chapter 4

Watching the evening news was a bad idea; reporters had driven the twenty miles inland from downtown San Diego to make wild speculations about the murder of a “beloved music teacher” in the small town of Sunnyside. At least the police hadn’t released Yollie’s or my name.

I slept badly and somehow turned off my alarm without gaining consciousness. My dad knocked on my door at eight, holding a cup of coffee. “You okay to go to work?” he asked. “Elliott said to let you sleep. He got a ride to school with a friend.”

Trouble trailed behind him, complain-meowing loudly. You better be okay enough to feed me.

I sat up, trying to shake the sleep out of my brain. “What friend?” I took a sip of coffee.

“That girl who’s co-vice president with him,” he said, with a smile.

I smiled back. We both thought Elliott had a crush on Sasha, the girl who had battled him for the position of vice president of the drama club. At some point, they decided to be co-vice presidents and with their mutual love of musical theater, had become friends. She’d been over several times ostensibly “helping” with costumes, always right beside Elliott.

She was adorable, with dark curly hair, brown skin and brown eyes that seemed to light up when she was looking at Elliott. I think she was one of the reasons he gave in on his initial wish to have the club perform Hairspray. Along with Lani’s costumes and the drama club teacher explaining that The Lion King was an epic tale of resistance against tyranny.

I’d made the mistake of asking him once if he “liked her liked her” and his furious denial answered me. Dad and I had met eyes and let it go.

I fed the cat and grabbed a shower, hiding the worst of the bruise on my cheek with makeup before heading out much later than normal. I arrived at my commercial kitchen to find the parking lot cordoned off with yellow police tape, the crime scene investigation truck outside. All of the employees who normally worked the early shift were milling about on the sidewalk, under the careful eye of a lone policeman behind the tape. I was already feeling anxious because both Lani and Zoey had told me they tried to call Quincy a bunch of times and he never answered or called them back. That was very unlike him.

Zoey grabbed my arm, making me wince. She was the strongest tiny person I knew. “Sorry,” she said. “But you have to help Quincy.”

“Start at the beginning,” I said. “What’s this all about?”

“Your cop friend showed up at seven a.m. with a freakin’ warrant to search the entire kitchen,” she said, outraged. “She said they’re looking for the murder weapon and anything that could link Quincy to the murder of Benson what’s-his-face.”

My stomach felt like butterflies were having a death match in it. “Oh no,” I said. “That’s crazy.”

“Tell that to your friend,” Zoey said. “She looks serious as hell.”

“I can’t get in there and talk to her now.” I bitterly resented that the two-story building had only a few windows and I had no idea what was going on inside.

“With all of those people in there, we’re going to have to clean the crap out of that place before we can cook again,” Zoey said. “You have to look into this thing.”

I shook my head. “Quincy can afford the best investigator money can buy.”

“Then he should hire you.” She pointed at me. Zoey hated any injustice, and this kind of problem for her friend would be at the top of her list.

I should feel flattered that she believed in me so much, but I was sure Quincy would hire a professional private investigator, maybe someone who used to work for the FBI or something, especially since his life might hang in the balance.

Norma came out, followed by crime scene techs holding plastic evidence bags of kitchen tools—when I looked closer I realized they had grabbed anything that resembled a sharp stick and might be the murder weapon.

Like anyone with half a brain would actually bring something like that to work the day after a murder.

Norma was in total professional mode, brushing by me without an acknowledgement that we were friends. Her partner Detective Ragnor gave me a sympathetic smile, but I didn’t know if it was because of Norma’s behavior or because my friend was in trouble.

I wanted to say something in defense of Quincy, but what good would it do? Norma had to follow this path of investigation until it was finished even if it didn’t lead anywhere.

We waited another hour for the last investigator to leave, grateful that they took down the crime scene tape on their way out. Zoey and I raced inside and up the metal steps to Quincy’s office, our feet sounding like thunder, while the others headed into the kitchen to put it back together. Zoey beat me by a mile, and even with all of my recent running, I was huffing and puffing when I got up there.

Quincy leaned back in his desk chair, his hands folded over his stomach. He looked thoughtful rather than alarmed.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “I didn’t do it, so they won’t find anything.”

“Why are they going after you so hard?” I asked. “And where were you yesterday?”

“That’s the problem in a nutshell,” he said “My wife got real upset about my little fight. After I talked to you, she made me go to an all-day yoga retreat in Julian. No cell phones. No electronics. I got home after dark to the press waiting outside my house with no idea why.”

“Oh good,” I said. “Then you have an airtight alibi.”

He nodded. “I do, but according to the detective, they can’t find the yogi. He took off to India or something and he doesn’t own a cell phone, so until he comes back, I just might be under suspicion.”

Quincy’s eyebrows were furrowed. I recognized that look. He was deep in thought, exploring all of the possible ways this situation could go. When he was making a business decision, I let him have the time to think and he always came back with the most insightful statements, all the possibilities weighed against his vast experience, and then he’d say something brilliant.

This time, I didn’t have the patience to wait. “What are you thinking?”

He spared us a brief glance and said, “I’m wondering why there’s such an immediate big push like this. It seems to be more than me being a suspect.”

“Norma’s been off track before,” I said. “But eventually she gets to the right person.”

“Did they say why they questioned you?” Zoey pointed down to the kitchen. “And did all that?”

“Because I punched the victim,” he said. “Apparently, there’s a YouTube video of me threatening to ‘end him’ after I knocked him down.” That seemed to bewilder him. “I was so angry that I don’t even remember saying that.”

“That can’t be all they have,” I said.

“Plus some texts that I sent my daughter,” he said.

“How did they get those so fast?” I asked. “Never mind. What did you say?”

“Something stupid,” he said, not wanting to tell us.

“How stupid?” I demanded.

“That I’d ‘take care of him,’” he admitted. “Like I said, stupid.”

Zoey shook her head. “Even I know better than that.”

“It seems like I’m at the top of their potential suspect list.” Quincy pushed a stack of legal papers toward me. “They’re executing search warrants for my home and all of my businesses.”

“Well, that’ll keep them busy for a while,” I joked. Quincy had part ownership of more companies than I could count.

“They were especially interested in Turner Furnace Repair,” he said.

Uh-oh. “Do you know a lot about furnaces?”

“No,” he said. “I just helped the owner get a loan last year. Why?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what blew up in the garage,” I said.

He nodded. “That seems to be where Norma’s questions were heading. Someone created the explosion to cover up the murder.”

Zoey scowled at me. “I’m sure Colbie will do everything she can to help you.”

“No. She. Won’t.” Quincy took off his reading glasses and pointed them at me. “I’m innocent and I don’t need anyone looking into this. We all know that Norma won’t rest until she gets her bad guy.”

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was definitely worried.

* * * *

Commercial kitchens have strict cleaning codes, so Zoey and I helped clean every inch of the kitchen with the rest of the chefs. When we were finished, we went over the schedule to figure out how to fit in all of the cooking to fill the orders. Top priority was my monthly order for Twomey’s Health Food Stores. It had only been a few months since they started selling my food and I still got a thrill when I saw it on their shelves. I’d been able to expand to keep up with the increased demand, and expected another jump in their next quarterly order.

I opened my laptop, hoping for a response from Natural-LA Grocers, but was disappointed. Now was certainly not the time to ask Quincy if he’d heard from them.

I called my friend Tod to let him know I wouldn’t be able to make our normal late lunch.

“That’s fine,” he said, a little relief in his voice. Tod was agoraphobic and when I first met him, he hadn’t been outside for years. Now he was working with a therapist who made house calls. He was making progress—allowing me to come into his apartment once a week even though it caused him some amount of anxiety, and going out for quick meals at quiet restaurants in his neighborhood. I still hoped for the Hollywood ending, where he would be completely cured and take off to some exotic location that he’d only seen online. But that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

While I worked with Zoey, stir-frying chicken in a frying pan the size of a hula hoop, I couldn’t help but wonder why someone killed Benson and tried to cover it up with a gas explosion. That was pretty sophisticated stuff directed at a simple oboe teacher. Not that I was going to investigate or anything. Quincy had been quite adamant.

If I was going to look into it, the first people I’d talk to would be his students and their parents. Steven might have been okay with his teaching methods but maybe others weren’t.

The timer chimed, and I turned off the gas. I’d better focus on my food or I’d have a bunch of unhappy cat customers.

* * * *

Since Elliott had rehearsal, I stayed late at the kitchen to finish the day’s production. Zoey left around three to pick up her son, and the late afternoon gang good-naturedly gave me a hard time for using some of their space. I texted my dad that I’d bring home Pico’s food and he sent back a thumbs up emoji.

Yollie called me when I was on my way home, the tangy scent of the chicken burritos filling the car. “You have to help Steven.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Your friend the cop just questioned him about his relationship with Benson.” She sounded angry. At me.

Holy cow. “I’m sure it’s just standard procedure,” I said. “She’s probably talking to all of Benson’s students.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “But I called some and you know what? None of them have been questioned.”

Shoot. “I’m sure she’ll talk to them soon enough.”

“It’s your fault he’s at the front of the line,” she said. “You have to get him cleared.”

I relented. “I’ll see what Norma has to say tomorrow.”

“You better,” she said. “You owe him.”

Oh man. Was I really going to get involved in another murder?

* * * *

By Tuesday, the news that business tycoon and philanthropist Quincy Powell was under suspicion of murder was all over the place. The YouTube video of him hitting Benson was playing on all major news stations and reporters were staked out by his house again. He texted that he was working from home, and he added, Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.

I called Norma. “Want a coffee?”

“Sure,” Norma said, her voice a little too friendly.

That couldn’t be good. Norma usually tried to avoid me during a murder investigation when I knew anyone involved.

Both of us knew that “coffee” meant Philz Coffee, the best in Sunnyside. By the time Norma arrived, shaking out her umbrella and shedding her raincoat, I had already ordered and paid for our large cups of my new favorite, Tantalizing Turkish, with its hint of cardamom and the addition of a fresh mint leaf, and had grabbed a corner table. It had been raining on and off for a couple of hours and clouds hung heavy in the sky.

Norma crossed the store with long strides, all business in her beige jacket thrown over her jeans. She sat down and stretched out her legs in front of her. Her eyes were tired. “Thanks,” she said, reaching for the coffee.

“Good morning,” I said, waiting for her to take a sip before asking her any questions.

She spoke first, getting right down to business. “Your friend has a problem.”

“Which friend?” I asked, not wanting to implicate anyone.

“Quincy,” she said as if it was obvious.

“Oh,” I said cautiously. Norma never did this. It must be serious. “Can you tell me why?”

“Besides that fact that he has plenty of motive?” She leaned toward me and spoke quietly. “The district attorney hates Quincy and is gunning for him.”

“Why?” I was stunned. Everyone loved Quincy.

“It seems Quincy had some kind of huge fundraiser for his opponent in the last election.” She kept her eyes on me while she took another sip.

“Wow. Well, it looks like he won anyway,” I said. “What’s his problem?”

“He’s the kind to hold a grudge,” Norma said in a tone that showed she did not approve.

“You know Quincy, Norma,” I said. “It’s totally impossible for him to kill someone, especially in this way. And then trying to cover it up with arson? It’s so cold-blooded. No way could he do that.”

She sat back and I could almost see her brain churning. “How well do you know Yollie?”

“Really?” I may have overdone the sarcasm. “You can’t possibly think she could do it. Or her son either!” I said, just as she was about to ask another question. “Creating an explosion like that takes a lot of knowledge a soccer mom just doesn’t have.”

She subsided.

“Aren’t there, like, traffic cams or something to show you who was in the area then?” I asked.

She frowned, not liking me telling her how to do her job, but answered, “We checked the nearest traffic cam footage and saw nothing out of the ordinary.”

“So you didn’t see Quincy,” I reinforced.

“No,” she said. “But the DA pointed out that there are paths to the victim’s house that avoid traffic cameras.”

I sighed. “Is this guy an idiot, or does he really believe that after fighting with Benson, Quincy figured out how to sneak his way to Benson’s house, avoiding all cameras, kill Benson, arrange an explosion to hide the evidence, and then sneak away—all in like twelve hours? Just because Benson said nasty things about his granddaughter?”

Norma moved as if to stand up. “We do have to ‘exhaust every investigative avenue,’ as he says.” She used finger quotes so I knew she felt the same way I did.

“He must be a great legal mind,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “I guess that’s why Quincy gave money to his opponent.”

A smile flitted across Norma’s face.

“I thought of something last night,” I said, not wanting her to leave yet. “Yollie and I must have just missed seeing the killer. Did we drive by him?”

“The garage has a door that leads to the backyard,” she said. “That’s most likely how he, or she, escaped without being seen.”

“But the backyard has that huge hedge,” I said.

“There’s a way through it,” she said. “It looks solid from the street, but it has a cutout to let people through to a gate.”

“Quincy can’t be the only one you’re looking at, right? The guy was such a jerk that he had to have other people who didn’t like him.”

“Don’t worry, we’re on it,” she said.

“Wait, one more thing,” I said, realizing how unlikely it was that Norma would share information. “Why did you tell me about the DA? Do you want me to see where this goes?”

“No, not at all,” she said, her voice firm.

“Because you’re always telling me that amateurs shouldn’t be anywhere close to murder investigations.” That had never stopped her from using what I uncovered on my own though.

“And I stand by that,” she said. “Of course I don’t want you to get involved.” She looked around to make sure no one could hear. “As long as all of the police resources are tied up with the DA’s little grudge match, I won’t be able to go after the real killer.”

“And Quincy will be under suspicion,” I said.

“Do you have anything else for me?” she asked, taking another sip. “If not, I have a search of another one of Quincy’s companies to oversee.”

“You know, those searches are very disruptive,” I said. “Isn’t that harassment or something?”

She stood up with a grim expression. “Better that than being arrested for murder.”