Who would do such a thing?
In an effort to get my thoughts off of Jessica, I sat bolt upright and grabbed my trusty leather-bound notebook from the coffee table. A ribbon held the next blank page ready for me. Quickly, I scribbled “Fried Green Tomatoes” at the top. Anything to get my mind off the murder. In reality, I knew this recipe by heart.
“Ingredients,” came next. I scribbled down each line. Tomatoes. Cornmeal. Flour. Salt. Pepper. Oil.
The basics of a fried green tomato.
I skipped a line and penned the word “Directions” next.
Slice the tomato in quarter-inch slices.
I’d always just eyeballed it. I second-guessed, wondering if that was thick enough to ensure they weren’t too soggy.
But thinking about a knife brought me back around to Jessica.
What happened?
Was there a disagreement in the kitchen? Maybe her killer grabbed a knife and stabbed her?
Every southern kitchen has cast iron frying pans—is that what killed her? Or was it far more premeditated than that? Had her killer used a gun?
These thoughts were all pretty disturbing for a normal girl like me. I was barely used to people dying from old age, heart disease, and cancer. Let alone something like this…
My phone buzzed, just two quick skips on the end table. Kate had texted.
No luck with my interview from the detective earlier. Tightlipped but hunky. You should meet him. He even smelled good (a drastic change from what you’re used to :P). News conference coming up at 6:00. Hopefully, they’ll let us know something before then…
It was almost six. I turned the TV back on and waited.
Ribbons flashed across the bottom of the screen. A familiar face, John Rodgers, announced they were going to a live report at the Lanai police station.
The screen flickered over to what was surely a musty, mostly unused room with a podium at the center. Multiple law enforcement personnel stood scrunched behind it. Police Chief Richard Hausman stepped forward behind the podium.
“Last night,” he cleared his throat, “a tragedy struck our community. We lost a citizen, Jessica Hayes, well before her time. She was murdered in what should’ve been a safe place—her place of business.
“Right now, we are still working to build a timeline around her death. Anyone who has any leads as to what may’ve happened there at The Southern Depot last night are urged to call into our community hotline.”
Immediately, another red banner appeared below him with the hotline number.
“For the time being, The Southern Depot will be closed. And I’m sorry, but at this time, we will not be disclosing any further details. We ask that our community comes together, not only in mourning, but to bring justice for Jessica.”
Disappointed that I had waited all day for literally no information, I turned the TV off. I threw the remote down on the floor in a small fit of rage. The back came loose and the batteries both scattered across the wooden floor.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door rattled. I nearly fell out of the couch, I was so startled. But only one person I knew knocked on the door like that.
“Mom, use your key!” I hollered. “Come on in.”
Her face was sure to crumple at that.
Keys jingled outside, and she must’ve used the wrong one twice. I smirked despite myself.
“Really, Allison? Is that how you greet your guests now?”
“No, Mom, that’s just how I greet you.”
I didn’t bother getting off the couch.
She slipped her shoes off at the door, her arms full. She carried a large teal purse in one arm—the kind that could double as a carry-on bag on an airline. And in her other arm was the unmistakable yellow plastic baggy of BF’s Curb Market.
Thank goodness. Mom came bearing gifts, or one gift, depending on if it was eaten in one or two sittings—a pint of Chunky Monkey. A cure-all. Boy problems, Chunky Monkey. Bad day at work, Chunky Monkey. Ugly comments online from trolls… You guessed it, Chunky Monkey.
A love of ice cream wasn’t the only thing we shared. I looked a whole lot like my mother, with only slight variations from my dad. She’s brunette where it isn’t graying. Not that I didn’t find the occasional gray hair, but those were plucked out on sight where Mom’s grew in wide strands around her face. It made her look dignified, or it would if she didn’t like to wear gaudy sets of reading glasses picked up at the Dollar Store—ten pairs could be found in that massive purse at any given time.
Our eyes were both brown. But where Mom’s nose was long and thin, mine was round.
She walked across the room straight for me, bent down, and I was quickly enveloped in a hug. I didn’t know how badly I needed that hug until my mom’s arms wrapped tightly around me. My head went straight to her shoulder.
Then the tears started flowing.
“Now, now, Allie. It’s going to be okay. I mean it’s not going to be O-K. But you are. Honestly, why couldn’t you have given that poor girl and her husband at least three forks?”
Snorting a bit, then choking on my own snot, I said, “Come on, Mom. If I knew this was going to happen, I would’ve given them four.” I wasn’t saying I had given them a bad review, just that after that had happened, I wished I gave them more than I did.
“Why would someone do this to her? Really, who would be so vicious?” I asked.
“Sweetie, I don’t know. That’s for the police to figure out. There will be justice. I’m downright sure of it.”
That was a comforting thought. A marginally comforting thought. It gave me the creeps just thinking that right now there was a killer on the loose in my small town.
Peeling the plastic off of the top of our pint had never felt so therapeutic. “Kate’s working the case,” I told Mom. “So hopefully she’ll keep me in the loop with it all.”
“She always does, sweetie. She always does,” Mom reassured.
Bite-by-bite we devoured all the creamy banana goodness. It eased our sorrows, even if it was only by a microscopic amount.
“Do you need me to stay the night?” Mom asked. “You know I will. All you have to do is ask.”
“No, Mom, I’m going to go to bed right this minute. You’ve got to get home to your puppies. Just tuck me in, and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
Most adults might be embarrassed to be tucked in by their mommy. Not me. Nothing beat it. With a kiss on my forehead, she bid me adieu.
Jessica needs justice, I thought, and then turned the pillow over, resting my head on the coolness of this fresh side.
My mother locked the front door with a click. Her keys jingled off into the distance.
TO: Foodie Allison
FROM: Concern
SUBJECT: Slander
Dear Allie,
I just wanted to say your review on that steak place in Thomasville was spot on. However, yesterday’s review should be struck from the record. How dare you slander that poor girl!
I’ve been a subscriber to the Gazette for twenty-eight years. I don’t know if I can support it another day with writing such as that.
Sincerely,
Concerned Citizen
3
A night of fretful sleep meant I was in desperate need of a caffeine fix. And I wasn’t the only one. A text from Kate came earlier than usual. Only one word.
Coffee?
About twenty minutes later, the door jingled behind me as I walked into The Java Hutt. The one and only coffeehouse Lanai had to offer. The place had the coziest vibe. The music was at just the right level, enough to be heard but not interrupt. The chairs were actually meant for sitting. And the smell. Oh, the smell.
Kate glanced up from her latte and offered me a confident smile—or at least the same million-dollar grin as seen on TV. It was a welcome sight after the mentally tough day prior.
Another wonderful thing about The Java Hutt was I didn’t even have to order my drink by name.
&n
bsp; “The usual,” I said, smiling briskly.
Gertie, the barista, just nodded. She whipped up my regular caramel macchiato and called my name almost as quickly as I’d ordered. I took the paper cup by its warm center and grabbed the cozy chair across from Kate, sinking down into it with the hot coffee steaming like a sauna in my face.
“I know you knew her…” Kate’s smile vanished. “But you weren’t really friends, right? Listen to me,” she said, flustered, “what I’m getting at—or trying to—is are you okay?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “It’s strange. I know. But I knew Jessica my whole life—or most of it. It’s crazy for her to be gone, and in those circumstances. Maybe I’m just feeling bad about that two forks review…”
“You have nothing to feel guilty about,” Kate insisted. “I was there with you. That was a two forks dinner if I’ve ever had one. Cross my heart, hope to die.” Kate said it with a wink. Then she realized her mistake and made a funny face.
“Too soon!” I said, chuckling at her misstep. “Thanks though. The timing is the worst.”
“But is there ever a good time for someone to die?” Kate contended. “No. But it happens. It happens every day.”
I nodded back to her.
Kate had a special place in my heart. She was always dependable. And she was great at helping to solve personal problems. She just didn’t get overly emotional about things. It’s probably why she was so good at her job. She’s as objective as they come.
Jingle. Jingle.
Another customer came inside the shop. It must have been a man—a very handsome man, at that—because Kate’s eyes widened, and a smile spread across her cheeks.
Turning to see who it was, I discovered I had no idea. I’d never seen him before. The badge on his hip gave me a clue. I just couldn’t remember what she’d said his name was.
Kate’s eyes weren’t liars. He was handsome. Tall, dark, and dreamy. The fairy tale kind of handsome. He placed an order at the register. Then he walked over to our table.
Typical Kate, just one smile, and the guys came running.
“Good morning,” Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome said. “It’s Kate, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. Kate McCallister. From last night.” She nodded. Kate’s smile never faltered. “Fancy seeing you two days in a row,” she said. “Oh, and this is my good friend, Allison Treadwell.”
“Nice to meet you.” My hand instinctively shot out to shake his, and an eager school girl’s grin graced my face.
He smiled, and I have to say, his smile was better than Kate’s.
“Hello, Allison. I’m Detective Javier Portillo. It is nice to meet you.” His voice was as smooth as velvet and deep like an ocean. His strong hand enveloped mine, and I’ll admit I might’ve gotten lost in the moment.
His sweet patchouli scent wafting in my direction knocked me back to reality. Kate must’ve seen me swoon—she gave me a suggestive wink behind Javier’s back.
“So, is there anything you can actually tell me about the case today?” Kate asked, drawing the detective’s attention back to her. “I mean, besides who the victim is and where she was found? We know those facts already. Everyone in town does.”
Kate wasn’t playing games. She was usually good at getting answers. She scooped her town rival, Clara Clearwater, weekly. But Javier Portillo appeared to be her kryptonite.
Handsome Javier sat adjacent to us, and he pulled a little notebook out of his pocket. He flicked through the pages and came to a stop with his thumb. He completely disregarded Kate’s question.
Kate’s jaw clenched, and she took a hasty sip of coffee.
He raised his eyes to meet mine. “Allison Treadwell?” he asked, looking as if the name rang some bells. “The Allison Treadwell of the Lanai Gazette?”
I nodded cautiously. “Freelance, but yes.”
“Actually, you’re just the lady I was looking for. I have a few questions for you.” He barely glanced around but made a show of doing so. “Though it might be a little too crowded here right now. Do you mind joining me at the station?”
“Umm, no, that’s fine,” I answered, hoping it was only me who heard the tremor in my voice. “Meet you there, though, right? I don’t have to be escorted or anything, do I?”
“Why?” he asked. “Do I need to bring you in with me? You ready to confess to something?”
“No. No,” I said. “I’ll definitely make it there on my own.”
My response was good enough for him.
“Great. Thanks!” He smiled again. He nodded a goodbye to Kate and me, and in one flowing motion lifted himself from the chair and made his way out, of the coffee shop.
Floored, I looked at Kate. “What on earth does he need to ask me? And why?”
Kate pursed her lips. It was obvious that she was still perturbed that the detective had just blown her off. “I don’t usually sugarcoat things, so, I won’t now. You knew Jessica. You two had a history—even if it’s an ancient one. And your negative review came out around the same time as her body was discovered. They need to make sure you had nothing to do with it. Rock-solid alibi, no motives, that kind of thing.”
Never before had I been so glad to have an investigative reporter for a friend. At least I knew what to expect when I got down there.
“You do have one, right?”
“One what?”
“A rock-solid alibi…”
“Yeah.” I sighed, thinking. “I’m a single girl, just turned thirty. I totally have one of those. I mean, does Netflix count?”
“Sure, that probably counts.” She smirked. “And Allison, please do something with your hair. Throw on some lip gloss. I saw the way you looked at him.”
“It wasn’t just me,” I countered.
She rolled her eyes.
I stood up biting my lip and pushing a piece of stray hair behind my ear. I was ready for my date with destiny. Well, at least a questioning with a handsome detective. That would have to do for today.
“And don’t wear your running shoes!” Kate called out.
“I like my running shoes. And what’s wrong with a ponytail?” I asked under my breath, the door closing behind me.
The warm summer/ autumn Georgia air hit my face and my hair. But I would take a shred of Kate’s advice. The perfect pink lip gloss was hidden somewhere in my purse. And I was confident if I actually put in some effort this time, digging down to the utter depths of the purse, I’d find it.
4
So, this is what a police station is like?
It wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be, but also not too far off. Take an old school building, turn it in to an office, throw in at least twenty years’ worth of smoke to only then slap No Smoking signs on the walls, and you have the Lanai Police Station.
This wasn’t the kind of place I wanted to get too comfortable. The ambiance ensured that would never happen. Then again, it wasn’t the jail.
I’m just here to talk to him.
A little old lady who looked about as out of place as me sat between the door and a hallway that I supposed led to the rest of the building and the police men and women who worked inside.
She had a look that epitomized the expression four-eyes. Her glasses sat on the very tip of her nose, a barrier between her eyes and the large computer monitor on her desk. With an ounce of trepidation holding me back, I dawdled forward to within a few feet of the desk.
“What can I do for you?” She barely glanced up.
“Oh… umm… I’m here to see Detective Portillo,” I mumbled.
“What’s that?” she crowed. “You’re gonna have to speak a little louder, young lady.”
“I need to see Detective Javier Portillo,” I practically shouted.
“Don’t we all, miss. Don’t we all. Hold on.” After a few murmurs on the phone, she asked me to hold tight, saying he would be right with me.
Less than a minute later, Javier appeared in the hall behind her. He gestured for me to follow him
. “Thanks for coming in. I’ll take you to the back where we can talk.”
He escorted me down the hallway and typed in a code for the door. It led to a sort of bullpen full of desks and uniformed police officers. Only a few looked up. Most were recognizable—Lanai is a small town, after all.
Javier led me to another hallway and into a room with a table and a few chairs. Closing the door behind us, he asked me to take seat. I complied, no questions asked.
From my seat I noticed a big window on the wall, not really a mirror like you see on TV. Is someone back there watching us? Just the thought of it made me sweat bullets.
Not that I had anything to hide but being questioned like this was enough to make any girl lose her cool. Well, maybe not Kate, whose cool and collected nature could make a grizzly bear think twice, but definitely me.
“All right, Mrs. Treadwell,” Javier started. “I would like you to give an official statement for me today. Do you need a lawyer present?”
I shook my head.
He lowered his head and shook his too. “I’m going to need you to use words with me, ma’am.”
“Oh… No,” I said. “I don’t need a lawyer. And it’s, uh, Miss Treadwell.”
“Allison Treadwell. Is that correct?”
I nodded but quickly rectified. “Yes. That’s correct.”
“All right. I think you’ve got it. But calm down. There’s nothing to be scared of here.” His smile put me at ease, if only momentarily. “You look as white as a ghost. It’s simple, really. I’ll ask you some questions. You answer them honestly. That’s it. Make sense?”
“Yes, it does.”
“All right. How do you know the victim, Jessica Hayes?”
How do I answer that? It’s kind of a long story… No! Keep it simple.
“Jessica and I have known—knew—each other a long time,” I started. “Practically our whole, uh, my whole life. We went to school together, and we had friends in common growing up.”
The Salty Taste of Murder (A Foodie Files Mystery Book 1) Page 2