A Game of Cones

by Abby Collette

  “We’re not helping in any way, Savta,” Maisie said. I think she understood. “We’re just trying to figure out what happened to help Rory feel better.”

  “Sure.” She winked. “I’ll get you two something to drink,” she said before walking away.

  Rory stared down into her coffee cup, took the spoon and stirred, before putting it up to her nose and setting it back down.

  “Who is Riya?” she asked.

  “Our other best friend,” Maisie said. “She’s a doctor and our bodyguard.”

  Rory frowned.

  “Long story,” I said.

  Rory reached across me and grabbed the condiment stand. She dumped four packs of sugar in and three of the little tubs of cream.

  I raised my eyebrows. “You haven’t even tasted it yet.”

  “I’m afraid to,” she said. “Coffee is my comfort, and as stressed as I am right now, if I get a bad cup it might just shove me over the edge.”

  “Don’t worry,” Maisie said. “We’ll get you a gallon of it to keep you calm. We can go over to the Juniper Tree.”

  “Oh no!” Rory said. “I cannot get a cup of coffee from that place.”

  “Why?” Maisie said. “It’s pretty good.”

  “Not if you’re a coffee connoisseur like Rory is,” I said. I looked at Rory. “But you might have to suck it up and drink it, Rory, because it’s the only coffeehouse around.” I pursed my lips. “I don’t know if ‘not leaving town’ means the Village of Chagrin Falls or not. Because technically, we’re a part of Cleveland, so would it count if we drove one suburb over? Not sure.”

  “They have decent coffee one suburb over?” Rory asked.

  “Java Joe’s are practically on every block,” Maisie said.

  Rory acted as if she was swooning. We laughed. First one for Rory. I was happy to see it.

  Rivkah came back with a Pepsi for me and a ginger ale for Maisie. We ripped the paper off the straws and took huge gulps.

  Rory, on the other hand, picked up her coffee cup and took a sip and set it back on the table. “I’d rather have your grandfather’s coffee.”

  “So,” Maisie said, “what now?” She picked up an egg and cracked it on the edge of the table and started peeling it.

  “Well, like I said back at the shop, I think it may be true that we might have had eyes on the murderer when we were at that SOOCFA meeting. That gives us a place to start.”

  “Well, you know, like I said back at the shop, I think it was someone who wasn’t there, but you’re in charge,” Maisie said. I raised an eyebrow. It was not like her to give in so easily.

  “Oookaay,” I said, not knowing what Maisie was up to.

  “What?” Maisie said. “I just want to get this investigation going. So who do we talk to first?”

  Now I could see why she’d agreed.

  “Well, after I said it to you guys about looking into the people at the meeting, I started trying to think who was there and I realized I don’t know if I remember.”

  Maisie tilted her head thinking. “I remember the guy who sat in front of us and turned and said they were taking everyone’s livelihood. And I remember the guy who was standing by the manikin.”

  “I do, too,” I said. “But who are they?”

  Maisie let out a laugh. “I don’t know,” she said. “Your mother said that you knew most of them.”

  “I know the people that have owned their shops for a long time,” I said. “I do know people like Mrs. Cro, who was there, and I remember Amelia Hargrove.”

  “Yeah,” Maisie said. “She came in with Zeke Reynolds.”

  “Debbie Devereaux,” I said.

  “And who else?” Maisie asked.

  “You know, now I remember looking around at the faces that night and not knowing a lot of them.”

  “So how will you know who to question,” Rory said. “Or who the killer is?”

  “I have someone in mind,” Maisie said. “And they were there that night.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “With the fight that Zeke and Veronica had,” Maisie said, “and coupled with the high-heeled shoes found in the dumpster”—she looked at Rory and smiled a “sorry”—“I had decided Veronica was our number one suspect.”

  “You don’t think that now?” Rory said, remorse over her actions with her shoes written all over her face.

  “No,” Maisie said and handed Rory an egg. “She is still a good suspect.” She took a bite of her egg. Rory laid hers on the saucer in front of her untouched. “The number one suspect in my mind, or at least a good place to start, especially since right now we can’t identify a lot of the SOOCFA members that were present.”

  “You originally thought it was Ari,” I reminded her.

  “Ari is a shop owner, so to speak,” Maisie said.

  “Ari is the guy who owns Molta’s, right?” Rory said.

  “Right,” I said.

  “Yeah. He saw me when I got out of the car and tried to go into the Juniper Tree for a cup of coffee.”

  “And it was closed,” I said, finally finding out when it was she saw him.

  “Right. Which now I know was a good thing,” Rory said.

  “You’ve never tasted that coffee!”

  “All I know is that I wish I had some of Ari’s coffee right now,” Rory said. “That is, if he’s not the killer.”

  “He’s not,” I said.

  “He’s still on my list,” Maisie said. She looked at Rory. “Did he have any blood on him, or look like he was hiding a gun in his pocket, or something?”

  “No,” she said.

  “And about what time was it that you saw him?” Maisie asked. I could tell the clue had just come to her as it did me. For me, it helped set a timeline. I knew Maisie was still trying to find out if Ari was indeed a killer.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe around nine, nine thirty?” Her eyes drifted off as she thought about it. “I remember my directions said my arrival time was nine, but after I got here I drove around for a bit.”

  “I have food for you!” It was Lin. Speaking low, he had a sparkle in his eyes. He knew about the gossip swirling around Rory and what we were doing, I was sure, but he, without even knowing her, was trying to put her at ease.

  He had two trays full of it, balancing on his arms, but he still was able to bow. Without even teetering the plates, he placed platters on the table and announced what each one was. “Spicy kung pao. It’s really spicy.” He nodded, scrunching up his nose. “Made with peanuts swimming in soy-sesame sauce and hot chili paste. These are crispy golden-fried egg rolls. Hot.” He shook his hands as if the rolls were burning his fingers. “They’re filled with shredded cabbage and juuui-cy shrimp.” He brought his shoulders together and puckered his lips. “Sweet and salty browned curls of thinly sliced twice-cooked pork stir-fried with leeks, fried rice, steamed rice, fresh broccoli and chunks of white-meat chicken. Really good. I stirred in brown sugar and ginger sauce. And . . .” Lin placed the last dish on the table in front of Rory. “Szechuan chicken. Just for you.”

  Lin Hou Xie came to the United States from China when he was seven years old. He attended grade school and high school in Newark, New Jersey. He graduated from Rutgers with a degree in English and food science then went to the Culinary Institute of New Jersey before moving abroad to study French cuisine in Paris.

  Now, on his own initiative, he was working as the head (only) cook in a Chinese restaurant owned by a Jewish woman in the Village of Chagrin Falls, Ohio.

  I had always believed, from the time I was a little girl, that Lin was actually only in our small town because he was hiding out from the law. Why else, with his training, would he be in such an out-of-the-way place with the skills he had.

  Savta, of course, swore her cook hadn’t ever done anything even close to illegal, although
the two of them tended to whisper a lot. And, of the two murders we’d had in Chagrin Falls, Maisie had never once thought of suspecting Lin. I guess she would know, with her penchant for sleuthing, if he was some sort of fugitive from justice.

  But he was a really good cook, and I’d eat anything he made.

  “I thought I wasn’t going to be able to eat,” Rory said. “But this smells so good.”

  “I made it just for you,” Lin said again, a big grin on his face. “I knew you’d like it.”

  “He doesn’t always come out and talk,” I said, surprised.

  “I don’t serve customers, but today is special.” He turned to Rory. “I like to see my customers smile. You smile. Okay?” he said, then backed away before turning around and walking briskly into the back.

  “Does everyone around here know about me?” Rory asked.

  “Probably,” Maisie and I said together.

  “So, back to the investigation,” Maisie said, heaping a big helping of the twice-fried pork onto her plate.

  But before we could start talking, we heard a commotion from the kitchen area. Lin had made a U-turn and was coming back out of the swinging door he had just disappeared behind. Rivkah was following him.

  “I don’t have a gun. Okay?” Lin’s voice went up three octaves. “The gun’s not here.” Lin stopped abruptly, held out empty hands and shook his head as if he was at a loss.

  “Don’t act innocent with me,” Rivkah said. “It was here. Right there in the kitchen.”

  “And now it’s not!” He scratched his salt-and-pepper hair. “Okay! I know nothing!” He waved both his hands back and forth. “Nothing!” he said. “You look for it!”

  “I did,” Rivkah said. She seemed sure he knew where it was. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

  “Did you look here?” he said and pointed to the counter. He walked over and, without actually looking for anything, said, “No. Not here!” Then he walked to one of the dragon statues and looked into its open mouth. “No. Not here, either!” He went back to Rivkah. “You know why?” But before she could answer, he said, “Because it’s not here!” With that, he marched off and disappeared through the swinging kitchen doors.

  “Did you hear that?” Maisie said, her voice straining. I was sure she wanted to scream what she’d just learned. I didn’t let her know I knew what she meant, but she had to know that little show was too contrived and coincidental for her to think it just happened in front of us.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The missing gun.”

  “A missing gun?” Rory said, almost losing the green peppers and chicken she was stuffing into her mouth. She took her fingers and stuffed them back in.

  “Thought you couldn’t eat,” I said.

  She hunched her shoulders while she was chewing on the steamed rice that followed, then she took her napkin and wiped her fingers. She’d been so engrossed in the food, she hadn’t heard us. “I just realized, I haven’t eaten in forever and with all the crying I’ve been doing . . .” She took a big bite of the egg roll she’d doused in Lin’s homemade duck sauce. “I guess I’m just drained. Gotta fill back up.”

  “You guys. There’s a missing gun,” Maisie said, getting us back on track.

  “What?” Rory said, blinking her eyes, tuning back in. “Now what did you say?” She swiped the napkin across her mouth.

  “The missing gun,” Maisie said. “There’s a missing gun.”

  “Missing gun?” Rory frowned. “Oh,” she said, nodding. “The cook.” She chewed and swallowed whatever leftovers she had. “Does that mean Lin had it and killed Zeke?”

  “What? No!” Maisie said, her forehead filled with creases. “Someone else took it.” She raised an eyebrow. “And I know who.”

  “Veronica?” I said flatly.

  “Yes!” Maisie nearly leapt out of her seat. She acted as if she’d just discovered the smoking gun. Literally.

  “And how did you come to that conclusion?” Rory said, then she looked at me, leaning over her plate ready for another mouthful. “And how did you know that’s what she meant?”

  “We’ve been friends a long time,” I said. “I know how that brain of hers turns.”

  “It works the same way as everyone else’s,” Maisie said.

  “I knew she’d come up with that because Zeke and Veronica were in here arguing,” I said. “And according to my mother, or whoever she heard it from”—I eyed Maisie—“Veronica left via the kitchen in tears.”

  Rory stopped, fork midway to mouth. “She put all that together from those two different events?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s what she does. How she works through to find the true criminal.”

  “Oh,” Rory said, pushing the food to a corner of her mouth. “Does it work?”

  “No,” I said.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” Maisie said. She took a sip of her pop. “But I know a way to find out.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said. No telling what Maisie was going to say.

  “Savta.” Maisie wiped her mouth and turned to her grandmother. Rivkah was searching behind the counter. “Savta!” Maisie called.

  “What?” Rivkah stood up. “You need more food?”

  “No. We have plenty. I want to ask you something.”

  “I am in a crisis right now.”

  “I know. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “Do you know where the gun is?” she asked, her eyes narrowed. She seemingly had no concern for what she was saying and how it would affect her other customers.

  “Savta!” Maisie said. “You can’t say that out loud.”

  “You don’t think they heard Lin yelling about it? Everyone knows about the missing gun now.”

  Maisie shook her head and hopped out of her seat. She grabbed her grandmother’s wrist and pulled her to the table. “When did the gun come up missing?” she asked.

  “How am I supposed to know that?”

  “When do you think it was?” Maisie plopped back down in her seat.

  “I don’t know,” she said, putting her hand on her cheek, “how”—her voice got louder—“am I supposed to guess when it went missing when I don’t know!”

  “I was thinking, Savta, that when Veronica ran through the kitchen, she may have taken it.”

  “Who is Veronica?” Rivkah asked.

  “Remember you told me about that couple who were arguing in here?” Maisie reminded her.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “And the one who turned up dead?”

  “Yes, well, Veronica . . .” Maisie looked at me. “What’s her last name?”

  “Russell.”

  “Veronica Russell is Zeke’s girlfriend.” Maisie turned her attention back to her grandmother. “That was the woman’s name who went out crying after the argument.”

  “Oh!” Savta’s entire face lit up. “You think she took my gun and shot him with it?”

  Everyone in the restaurant was looking at us now.

  “Maybe, Savta,” Maisie said, lowering her voice, hoping, I’m sure, that her grandmother would do the same.

  “And she ran through the kitchen on her way out?” Rory asked as she crunched her way through a piece of broccoli. “Why would she do that?”

  “If I knew that, I would know why the stars don’t fall out of the sky,” Savta said.

  “Because they aren’t under Earth’s gravity,” Rory said. She pushed her plate aside, leaned back and rubbed her stomach. “I wish solving all of this was as easy as answering that question.”

  “Tell us what happened, Savta,” Maisie said. “Tell us every detail.”

  Rivkah waved for Maisie to scoot over then sat down in the booth next to her. “I can’t stay long because I have a gun to find. Unless you’re right”—she nodded at Maisie—“and the girl took it. Otherwise, I need to find it bef
ore someone else does.”

  “Zeke and Veronica were arguing,” Maisie said, moving her grandmother along.

  “I know that,” Rivkah said, not getting the hint. “I told you.”

  “Then what happened?” Maisie asked. “Tell Win and Rory.”

  “Okay.” Rivkah turned to us. “They were arguing. First, whispering across the table, but it was easy to see it was heated. Then she started screaming and crying. Poor thing.” Rivkah waved toward a booth across the room, probably the one they’d sat at that night. “She said, ‘I wish you were dead,’ or something like that, and—”

  “Wait, Savta!” Maisie grabbed ahold of her wrist. “You didn’t tell me that part.”

  “What part?” she said.

  “The part about her saying she wished he was dead.” We all said some iteration of that line all at once.

  “How could you just be telling someone that part now?” I added.

  “Is it important?” she said. “Because now she got her wish.” She shrugged.

  “Oh my, Savta,” Maisie scolded. “You should have told us.”

  “Well, now I have,” she said. “You want to let me finish the story?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Go ahead, please.”

  “Such good manners. She says please. Her grandmother taught—”

  “Savta!” Maisie said.

  Rivkah shrugged. “See what I mean?”

  “Savta, please,” Maisie said.

  “That’s better.” She smiled at Maisie. “So then she, the girl or girlfriend, so you say, tried to go that way”—she pointed to the front of the store—“but there were a lot of people standing waiting to come in. I think she was embarrassed. So she ran toward the bathroom.”

  “And?” I said.

  “That’s the last I saw of her,” Rivkah said.