The Billionaire Chef

by Kee Patterbee

  “Remember where I keep my goods,” Elias told her.

  Glancing down at the papers scattered on the floor, Hannah began sifting through them. At first, she found nothing of value. The wastebasket revealed some general receipts for coffee and various snacks from the coffee shop across the way. Hotel check-in papers. A religious flyer. A discarded itinerary. At first, she wondered why the police did not take these items. For that matter, why didn’t they take his medications, she thought? Considering everything, she again weighed the possibilities. This could be a matter of small town police work. It was not they did not do their job, they never encounter such happenings, or at the least, rarely. The other possibility was the local police was less than honest. There could be something big going on and they got paid to look the other way, she considered. Shaking the idea out of her head, Hannah filed it away for later consideration. At present, she did not have time to deal with such matters. Her focus was on the present line of thinking, which brought her back to the missing laptop. If the attacker took it, this whole event would point to a robbery gone wrong. But the local authorities, if Ducky was to be trusted, suspected an accident. This again led her back to questioning their capabilities as investigators. Hannah paused to rub her temples. She was beginning to think in circles and it was getting her nowhere. Gran interrupted her thoughts as she sat on the bed beside her.

  “So what do we know so far?” Before Hannah answered, Gran began a list of her own. “One, if this were a suicide attempt, he had a breakdown somewhere between when Janine and he exited the room and when he went back up. I’d rule that as improbable, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Hannah agreed, happy to let the elder snoop dole things out. It gave her a new perspective, which now she needed.

  “Two, even if that’s what happened, which again, just didn’t happen, he would have had to take a running start from…” Gran pointed to the middle of the room, “right there, which means there was no pause, no hesitation.”

  Again, Hannah agreed. She tried to envision everything Gran laid out, to play it through in her mind. She saw Elias enter in a rage. He tossed things about, opened the glass door to the balcony, and backed away. Then he ran full force, slinging himself over the rail.

  “The blood spatter is minimal. I doubt it came from the nose. Probably a cut, like on the lip. Unless he cut himself somehow, someone punched him. The face is the logical choice. Go for broke.”

  Hannah interceded on Gran’s layout.

  “No hesitation would mean he was adamant. When I talked to him earlier in the week, everything was fine. From what Janine and her father described, he was nervous and cautious, but not agitated. I’m pretty sure we can agree that there was someone here or came in, they scuffled, and Elias went sailing.” Hannah rolled her tongue before she glanced at Gran. “Wexler’s big enough, but did you notice his hands.”

  “Big and curled.”

  “I’m thinking arthritis from football injuries.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning he didn’t seem to be nursing an injured hand. The punch could have been light, but it was strong enough to draw blood.” Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know, too much to consider right now. Let’s finish this and mull it over later.” She leaned down and again searched through the trash. Looking in the can itself, she saw a business card stuck to one side. Retrieving it, she found it was for a local storage facility. She held it so both Gran and she could see. ‘Hannibal and Oventon Storage,’ the card read. It listed three things that caught Hannah’s eye. Security. Refrigerated storage available. And the address. 2433 Cook’s Place Rd. She grinned. “Clever, Elias.” She pulled out her cell phone and did a quick address search. Waiting, she flipped the card over and over, pondering. When the information came up, she said, “It’s about twelve miles outside of Gresham.”

  Gran watched as Hannah stood, stretched, and stepped away, staring at the card. “That’s a good distance, considering that Elias is particular about his truffles. I know he never liked to be that far from them. No more than a few hours at a time.”

  “Kind of obsessive if you ask me.”

  “I agree, but that’s not my point. From what Janine and Wexler said, he took extra precautions this time. Given that, it wasn’t normal for him to keep them far from his sight. Something prompted him to move them to what he deemed as a more secure storage area.” Hannah paced the floor, tapping the card against her chin. “Last time I talked to him, he went off about the international food black market.”

  “How did he sound?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Casual at first, but he got more and more serious. He said it involved big money.”

  “Enough for someone to kill over?”

  “Money is money. Big is big. He used the word international, so it has to be a huge enterprise that criss-crosses borders. Hijacking and smuggling, I’d imagine. He did say that trucking companies even hire special security to manage the movement of certain foods.”

  “Like his truffles.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t know. I doubt it would take a lot to move them given their size and weight. But regardless, if he was paranoid enough to hide them elsewhere, what role did he play in this? Was he a target because he had them and caught wind to it? Or because he traded in them and things went south?”

  Something triggered him to alter his routine.” Glancing back over at the bottle of pills in the suitcase, she pointed and sighed. “Could have been any number of things as far as we know.”

  Gran rose from the edge of the bed. “So what’s next then? This has panned out.”

  “Where I should have been looking from the beginning. I need to find the man at the scene of the fall.” She recalled and recounted her mental profile of the man. One thing struck her the most. There was an intense anger, and a menacing look on his face while watching paramedics load Elias onto the ambulance.

  Dropping the business card of the storage facility into her bag, Hannah took one last look around the torn up room. She motioned for Gran to head for the door. Reaching it, both of them paused to listen. Hannah’s hand was on the knob when she heard footsteps in the hall heading in her direction.

  Chapter Ten

  As always, Hannah’s mind kicked into overdrive. In all probability, it was another hotel guest. Still, she believed she could take no chances, especially with Gran in tow. Rather than explain to someone, perhaps the police, why they crossed the crime scene tape, she decided they should hide. Her first thought was the closet, but to her mind, it was too obvious. Then she looked to the bed. The room was a double. While one bed show signs of usage, with covers strewn to the floor, the other was undisturbed. The hotel maintained an older style and the antique beds were large. Underneath was unrestricted, with the spread reaching near the floor. More importantly, each stood high off the ground. Eighteen inches, Hannah guessed. She gestured to Gran, who caught on. Both women dropped to the floor as quietly as possible and slid underneath the bed closest to the balcony. Thinking it through further, she removed her compact from her purse. She clicked it open, removed the sponge and stowed it back into her purse. After, she produced a bottle of pepper spray and slipped it into Gran’s hand. The elder snoop clicked it ready and aimed it outwards. Then, they waited.

  Proving her instincts right, the door opened and someone stepped inside. From her vantage point, she noted the shoes of a man. Black work shoes. Eleven to twelves. Worn more on the left side. Favored leg. Appears to have a slight limp. As the person moved about the room, she calculated the person was searching for something. Truffles, she questioned herself. Lying on her back, she rolled her head to follow as much as possible. Gran followed suit. The individual sat on the foot of the other bed and items began to hit the surrounding floor. From the items tossed in front of their position, she determined them to be rummaging through the suitcase. They tossed contents, discarding each item one by one. Once done, they moved over to the wardrobe. Hannah was grateful for her decision to move under the bed, but wonde
red how long it would be before he found them. She heard a round of French. Speaking the language to a decent degree, Hannah recognized the words as acid laced expletives.

  The individual moved in the direction of the bathroom. Hannah slid the compact mirror out just enough to catch a glimpse of the intruder. It’s him, she noted to herself. She heard another round of expletives when he could not find what he was searching for.

  With him out of sight, Hannah thought it a good time to make a speedy exit. She was about to motion to Gran to slide out from underneath the bed, when the man’s cell rang. He re-entered the room. Having no way to exit, they stayed in place. Hannah listened as best she could as Gran stood ready to spray him at a moment’s notice.

  “Samori,” he answered. He had a thick, French accent, but it was from a dialect that Hannah did not immediately recognize.

  There was a pause before he answered the unheard side of the conversation.

  “There’s no paperwork. No notes. Nothing of consequence.” He paced the room. “There’s no way of knowing where he took them.”

  Sitting again on the edge of the bed, Samori once more picked at the suitcase items. As he talked, each item was flung to the floor as before, but with more force. Hannah could tell from his growing agitation the conversation was not going his way.

  “Someone has been here already. They probably got them. If they did not, the local authorities did.”

  By this time, Samori weeded through the bits of trash on the floor, much in the same way Hannah did earlier. “Well, yes, he could have moved them, but where? The island is small, but the possibilities are endless.”

  Samori rose and started to pace the floor. He moved in and out of Hannah and Gran’s sight as he did so.

  “In the hospital, I would imagine. You do not take a four-story fall and then skip away, now do you?”

  There was another pause.

  “Dead for all I know.”

  The tone in Samori’s voice was one of increasing agitation.

  “Oh, well, here is a clue. Call the damn place.”

  Making his way over to the curtains leading out to the balcony, Samori pulled them open from where Hannah shut them. Light streamed in and by the sound, Hannah understood him to have stepped outside. It made it harder for her to hear, but she could make out some of his exchange.

  “No. No. No. No. It is not my mess, and it is not my responsibility.” There was a pause, and she heard him add, “Yes? Well, how is it you say, people in Hell want ice water too?”

  His voice raised as he stepped into the room.

  “No, it is you who do not understand. I do what I am paid to do. I will find them, and you will pay me for them, but do not EVER threaten me again. Do you understand me? Not if you want the information. Otherwise, you will--”

  Samori’s words broke off. Hannah could tell he heard something. She risked another peek with her mirror. He pressed the cell against his chest to stifle the sound. Voices grew loud on the other side of the door to the hall and he readied himself. Even from underneath the bed, Hannah could hear. After a moment, the voices faded and gave way to exiting footfalls. Samori made his way to the door. Cracking it, he appeared to check the hall before exiting.

  The two sleuths stayed in place for a few minutes after Samori left the room. When she felt it was safe, Hannah motioned for Gran to slide out. Again, they paused and listened. After a moment, Gran sighed.

  “Whoever made that call, I owe them a cookie. Saved us big time.” She pointed to the bottom of the bed. “Sooner or later, he was going to check, you know.”

  Hannah nodded, half listening. She was too busy contemplating the conversation. Was Dahlia on the phone? She glanced around the room once more to take it in again. Gran did the same. When their eyes came around to each other, each bobbed their head once in agreement and headed for the door. As did Samori, they too checked the hall before slipping out. They made their way to the elevator and then down to the lobby. As they stepped out, they heard Samori’s distinctive accent. He was arguing with someone. Hannah located him at the desk manager’s station. Angry and fuming, she noted. He’s got more than a few issues. Listening in, she found he wanted Elias’ phone call records from the room. The desk manager, an older, smallish, balding male, refused. Samori then let out a string of French. Again, Hannah recognized the expletives.

  No one paid Hannah and Gran any attention as they exited the main lobby, through the door, and out on the sidewalk. Waiting for Samori to come out, they pretended to be window-shopping. The street had returned to normal. It was as if nothing happened there earlier in the day. Elias’ accident was but a distant memory now. The sun shone and people went through the typical tourist motions. In a short while, their target emerged from the hotel. He headed off toward the sidewalk next to the beach, disappearing into the crowd along the way.

  “Are we going to trail him?” Gran asked, her words dripping with anticipation.

  Glancing up at the clock on the building across the road, Hannah sighed and her shoulder sank. “It’ll have to wait. We have to be somewhere and we need to check on Elias.” She noticed the disappointment on her grandmother’s face and leaned in to give her a hug. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to him,” she said.

  Gran gave a halfhearted smile. “Sorry. It was starting to feel like old times.”

  “Well, don’t worry, there’s plenty more to do. Think about it. We have five suspects… so far. A whole heap of probable causes, and a smattering of clues like a jigsaw puzzle, and we only have some of the edges put together.”

  “Yeah, but the center is where the fun starts.”

  “Exactly, come on, Gumshoe Gal. We have just enough time to grab some fudge before dinner.”

  Together, the two headed down the street.

  After a stop at Asimov’s Confections for the sweet treats, Hannah and Gran returned to their rooms. Papa Jay and Hymn were anxious and waiting.

  “Vera called. She’s arranged for someone to drive us to the dock where they’re anchored,” explained Papa Jay.

  “Anchored? Not docked?”

  “Big tub, apparently.”

  Half an hour later, everyone made their way to the front of the hotel. Hannah was again surprised to see Ducky driving another small shuttle van not from the hotel. “You seem to be everywhere,” she remarked. Smiling, he said, “I’m off work here today, so I’m working the festival, unofficial kind of. My name is on a call board. So, if anyone needs anything, I’m the go-to guy. Got to earn that cash. Paris is calling, and she’s not a cheap date.”

  Hannah acknowledged the truth of his words. “No, she’s not.” She found herself again pondering over Ducky. He’s always around, she noted. But why? This did not, in and of itself, suggest his involvement in her investigation. However, the frequency of his appearance was more than coincidence by her estimation and meant something. The possibilities disturbed her. She did not like the idea of Ducky as an attempted killer, or at the least, a potential thief who got in over his head. He did not seem to have the physical prowess capable of the act performed against Elias, but in the heat of the moment, who knows. Not likely, but it is possible, she decided. Once again, she reminded herself every probability required consideration. Each needed checking before clearing.

  After everyone boarded, Gran inquired of Ducky about their destination.

  “I’m not sure which one it is, but I can pretty much guess. There’s a lot of wealth in and around Gresham. A lot of yachts pass through. I drive by the docks every day on my way to work, and after a while, one looks like another. But the other day, one pulled in that’s different. It’s big, and its black and beautiful. I’d love to have a look around it.”

  “A boat man, are you,” Papa Jay commented.

  Ducky shrugged. “Not so much, but this one is exceptional. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

  “Do you know Vera?” Hymn inquired.

  “Ms. Bessinger?” The young man shook his head. “Only by reputation
and the article Mr. Woolridge wrote. Beautiful woman. Interesting too. She’s your friend, right?”

  Hannah affirmed. “Oh, by the way, turns out Mr. Woolridge did come after all. So if you’d like, I can introduce you to him.”

  Ducky produced an excited expression. “For real? He’s going to be here tonight? On the yacht?”

  “He is. Vera’s his daughter. Her stepfather owns the boat. Do you know what it’s called?”

  Ducky’s expression changed. Hannah observed it shift from excited to one of restraint. He hesitated before answering.

  “I’m not sure, exactly. As I said, I just noticed it. It’s anchored out from the docks, stem ashore. There’s a transport boat waiting. The hiring instructions said to pilot you over.”

  The man’s words piqued Hannah’s curiosity. Not interested in boats, but you know the terminology and how to operate them. She filed it for later consideration. “Boatswain, driver, go-to guy. You’re a man of many talents, Mr. Kamo. A veritable James Bond.”

  “More like a Clouseau, if you ask my boss.” He gave a nervous chuckle.

  Hannah laughed along though the sleuth still wondered about the man. She also acknowledged she could just be acting paranoid about him. He may have gotten the job because he knew how to drive the boat as well as drive the van. Not just because he wanted to be near you, she considered.

  “Ms. Bessinger. Mr. Woolridge. You. This sounds like it’s going to be an interesting dinner. Is Ms. Doyle going to be there as well?”

  “I’m afraid not. Are you a fan of hers as well?”

  Ducky gestured no. “I’ve run for her some. I just thought she might be here as well since Ms. Bessinger and you judged with her.” He turned the shuttle off-road and steered down toward the water.

  “Ms. Doyle’s a big fan, by the way. Don’t let her fool you. She mentioned you several times before you arrived at the festival. I think she wants to pick your brain on some stuff.”