Apple Pies and Alibis

by Christy Murphy

  The fire department okayed us to return to the offices, and we all shuffled inside. A crowd gathered around the elevators.

  “I have to use the restroom, kid,” Mom said, motioning to the sign at the far end of the lobby.

  Mom used the restroom, and I looked at my sweaty self in the mirror. “Let’s talk to Tina next,” I said to Mom as I washed my hands in the sink. Madison had rattled me, and I wanted someone easier.

  Mom exited the stall and took the sink next to mine. “Chicken,” she said and washed her hands. “You talk to her. I’ll listen.”

  “You’re the Sherlock,” I said to Mom and grabbed a paper towel.

  “Watson talks to people,” Mom said.

  When we got to the Turing Tech lobby, I noticed Tina was grabbing her purse. I checked my watch. It wasn’t even four o’ clock yet. Was someone leaving early to do a little espionage?

  “Leaving so soon?” I asked. “We wanted to get your input on the menu for the party.”

  “I’m fine with what everyone else wants,” Tina said. “I don’t want to have to deal with the complaints if people don’t like it.”

  “People complain a lot, don’t they?” I said, feeling kind of clever about my interrogation style. Maybe I was getting like Mom.

  “I’m not a tattletale,” Tina said, frowning.

  So much for my clever interrogation. I looked to Mom to save me, but she didn’t.

  “I’m sorry. Talking to strangers isn’t my strong suit. I get nervous,” I confessed.

  “I know how that feels,” Tina said. “It’s getting so stressful with my lunch thief and all the new people. I’m going to therapy right now.”

  “I should try therapy,” I said. “It’s just so expensive.”

  “I get it free through our company insurance. Barbara got us the best benefits, a PPO! I only have a ten dollar co-pay on my sleeping pills, anxiety meds, and antidepressants. Most people pay twenty dollars or more. If you can get a doctor who will prescribe you two or three months at a time, it’s even cheaper.”

  “Good tip,” I said not knowing how to respond. Total. Awkward. Silence.

  Now that I was standing closer to her, I could see the bags under her eyes and the worry lines. She was too young to be so stressed. Tina put her purse on her shoulder and fished her keys out of her purse. I figured it was time to wrap up.

  “We’re thinking about going apple themed for the lunch party. Apple-glazed ribs, Waldorf salad, frozen apple margaritas,” I said.

  “I thought you’d do apple martinis,” Tina said.

  “It’s too on the nose,” Mom said. Sure, now she chimes in when I’ve blown the interview. I hadn’t even asked Tina about the company.

  “The menu sounds good,” Tina said. “You’ll need to have a vegetarian option for some of the others, though,” she added, and left down the hall in the direction of the elevator. If Tina was on three different medicines to deal with office stress, I doubted she had the mettle to sell secrets.

  Mom pointed to Henry back at his workstation assembling that bookcase. “Let’s go,” she said. “But this time, I’ll talk.”

  I didn’t argue.

  Henry Ruiz seemed excited about the ribs.

  “What kind of sauce are you going to do?” he asked Mom.

  “I’m going to do an apple-glazed baby back. In honor of your new client.”

  He laughed. “That’s good. I’m all for that. It’s a shame we couldn’t do them on the grill at the party.”

  “With the fire alarms, maybe we’d better not,” I said.

  Henry laughed. “True.”

  “So you’re the fire marshal or something for the building?” Mom asked, breaking the awkward silence I’d created. When did I become so weird around people?

  “I’m the fire safety person for this office, because everyone else was too lazy and didn’t take it seriously,” Henry said. “My regular job is programmer. With all the new people, you can say I’m head programmer now.”

  “Is that like being… what-you-call-it,” Mom said, using her favorite phrase when searching for a word, “like CFO or CEO, but for computer things.”

  “You mean CTO.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Nah, Rick’s CTO. He stands around and takes all the credit. I’m more hands-on. You know, slinging code.”

  Mom laughed. “Like slinging hash,” she said.

  “Nobody gets that,” Henry said, smiling.

  “What do you think is causing all of these fire alarms to go off?” Mom asked out of nowhere.

  “Everyone in the building suspects it’s someone in this office.”

  Mom’s eyes got wide, and she leaned close to Rick. “Why?”

  “Because the alarms started going off when we moved in.” Henry looked around conspiratorially, and leaned back to Mom. He said in a whisper, “I think I might have figured out who it is.”

  “Ooh!” Mom said, lowering her voice. “Who do you think?”

  “I can’t prove it yet. So I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Henry said.

  Mom smiled. “Then it must be someone important.”

  Henry smiled. “I couldn’t say.”

  Mom laughed. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “I hope you do.” Henry motioned to his half-assembled bookshelf. “I better finish putting this together. It’s almost five.”

  “See you Friday,” Mom said, and then we searched for Ivan and Rick, the last two names on our list. Ivan was out on a sales call, and Rick was MIA.

  Since the party was the day after tomorrow, we’d have to talk to those two then. So far, I didn’t think we were that much closer to finding the leak, and I worried we weren’t up to the job.

  Mom and I were quiet on the drive back to Fletcher Canyon. The magnitude of our “case” weighed on me. I needed to convince Mom that we should remind Barbara we weren’t professional investigators. When I’d suggested to Barbara that we do an informal snoop in the guise of a party, I made sure to tell her we couldn’t guarantee a result. But it didn’t sound like she or Mom remembered that today. Mom and I needed to keep costs down on the party to keep Barbara from feeling ripped off.

  I exited the 210 and took a right on Maclay, bound for our small town at the foot of the Angeles Crest Mountains. I’d grown up in Fletcher Canyon but had moved to Hollywood when I dropped out of college to help my then-boyfriend with his music career. My mind flashed back to his text. I’d called him over a dozen times in that self-esteem sucking week following our breakup, and he hadn’t called back once in the last three months. Now that I was getting my life back together, I didn’t feel like getting flattened by the emotional steamroller that was Robert.

  I pulled into the alley behind Main Street and parked in one of the employee spots for Wenling’s place, the Lucky Dragon restaurant. She let us use her kitchen to prepare our food, and Mom provided her with free desserts and cakes in return.

  We entered through the back door. The dinner rush would come soon, and the cooks were prepping for the night. Wenling greeted us in the kitchen. “How did it go? What’s the menu? What’s the case?” she asked eagerly.

  “We’re going with an apple-themed menu with apple-glazed barbecue ribs,” Mom said.

  “Is that like Chinese spare ribs?” Wenling asked.

  “No, it’s American,” Mom said. “Like Southern barbecue.”

  “Oh,” Wenling said, disappointed that she wouldn’t be getting the extra business. Mom used the Lucky Dragon food when she catered with a Chinese menu, and then Mom provided the desserts and labor. “Is it a big party?”

  “Thirty to forty people,” I said.

  “Maybe there’s a budget for an extra server, and another pair of eyes for the case,” Wenling volunteered as we made it to our booth in the back part of the restaurant.

  “Good idea,” Mom said. “The budget is huge so we might as well add in what we can.” My stomach sank. I knew I should speak up, but I didn’t. Mom waved the file folder we’d gotten from
Barbara Turing. “I have files we have to go through now.”

  Wenling smiled. “I’ll put on the coffee and put in our orders. The special today is Twice Cooked Pork.”

  “Sounds good,” I said and added, “I’ll grab a diet soda.” In the last few years I’d had to switch to half-caf coffee. The fully caffeinated stuff (well, in the quantities I drank it) gave me the shakes. I’ve long considered it one of my life’s failures. Somehow, diet soda didn’t have the same effect, providing I drank it slow enough.

  When I returned to the table, my thinner and more successful cousin, Celia, was there talking to Mom about “the case.”

  “What’s up?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t staying long.

  “Did you know I won’t get my money from the will for over a year?” she said. A home healthcare client of hers, Harold Sanders, was murdered and had left her money. Mom figured out who killed him to clear Celia’s name.

  “That’s too bad,” I answered. For the record, I had known that it would take that long.

  Mom handed me a stack of the printout reports to go through. Celia reached into her purse and pulled out a wad of pens and highlighter markers and pushed them into the center of the table for us all to use.

  “You just carry all this stuff around?” I asked.

  “No, I went into the main office to pick up my schedule for the month. I just got back,” she said.

  I must’ve had a questioning look on my face, because Mom jumped in to explain. “You went to the supply closet while you were there.”

  “Yeah,” Celia said with a smile, as if stealing office supplies were a totally natural thing to do. “I got three reams of paper and toner in the car.”

  “Ooh,” Wenling said, coming back and scooting into the booth next to Mom. “Toner is expensive.”

  “I know,” Celia said, “but I could only get two, because I got there after lunch. Everybody else had already been there.”

  “It’s like they say, ‘the early bird is dinner on the table,’” Wenling said. And let me point out that the “they” that she was quoting is Mom and her. Wenling and Mom had an odd habit of combining idioms, and since they both had been friends for so long, they kind of enabled each other’s use of battered quotations.

  Mom and Celia nodded as if what Wenling had said made sense. I grabbed an orange highlighter and looked at the portion of the printouts that Mom had given me.

  We all sat in silence and stared at the various printouts. The clicking of utensils and plates from the other side of the restaurant magnified our quiet befuddlement.

  “What are we looking for?” Celia said.

  “We’re looking to see if one of these people,” Mom said, holding up the list with the five names on it, “communicated with the competition on the tenth of this month or possibly the day before and the fifteen of last month,” Mom replied.

  I stared at the barrage of cell phone use entries. Email engagements. Internet engagements. The amount of information was dizzying.

  “Looks like everybody communicates with everybody every day all the time,” Wenling said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Like the whole office is logged into the company server or are on their phones every minute they’re not in a meeting. It’d be more unusual to find someone not logged in to their computer.”

  Mom paused to think. “Aye!” Mom said. “That’s it! These people, they know,” her accent pronouncing the “th” sound as a “d” as in “dese people” and “day know” as her thoughts got lost in her sheet. We all waited for her to finish. “Hand me that one,” Mom said, scanning my list. “See here,” she continued. “Here is a whole hour where Madison hasn’t logged into anything. And here’s another day.”

  “She could have gone to lunch or a meeting,” I said. “But I see where you’re going with this.”

  Mom pulled out another list. “Everybody look for gaps in the schedule and then check on their meeting list to find out if they had a meeting. Highlight only the ones where you have a gap, but no meeting.”

  I turned my attention to my list. Mom had given me Rick Heller’s file. I smiled. He was one of our top suspects. Mom had given Wenling Tina’s files, and Celia had gotten Henry Ruiz’s files. Mom had taken Ivan Myers’ and Madison’s files for herself. Ivan’s file was just hours and hours of calls, meetings, and plane schedules, but he had lots of gaps. Although, being on the road for sales, that was to be expected. Rick’s file had quite a number of gaps, as did Madison’s. Some of them corresponded to the same times, so Mom and I figured they might be having an informal meeting with each other.

  Wenling found a gap in Tina’s schedule, but they were always at the end of the day. “It’s probably therapy. She left early today to go, but still mark it,” I said. “We can double check with Barbara on everyone’s gaps and narrow down our suspects.”

  When we were done with our highlighting, it looked painfully obvious. As far as the paperwork was concerned, the most likely candidates for secret selling were Rick Heller and Ivan Myers. Rick Heller didn’t have a convenient excuse for his gaps. Madison also had a few empty spots, but hers didn’t coincide as neatly with the days of the leaks that Barbara had provided.

  “Looks like we found our guy,” I said to Mom.

  Wenling and Celia looked disappointed.

  “It’s not foolproof, but it’s pretty darn close,” Mom said. “We’ll talk to him in person at the party to be sure.”

  “Does anybody need anything from the kitchen?” I asked, standing up and grabbing my empty cup.

  Wenling and Celia shook their heads no. Celia stood up and let me out of the booth. Mom handed me her coffee mug.

  I returned to find that Wenling and Celia had cheered up. I handed Mom her coffee and slid into the booth next to Celia.

  “If we don’t get any more evidence, we’ll tell her we think it’s Rick, but she’s good for the sting at the party,” Mom said.

  Wenling and Celia nodded.

  “What kind of sting?” I asked, and I couldn’t help but be a tad apprehensive.

  “I suggested she give Rick and Ivan each a false scoop and see which story leaks.”

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of that sooner. A part of me wondered if Mom had come up with this solution upon hearing the case.

  “With that settled,” Mom said, “we need to plan the shopping and the party now.”

  “What time do you want me to come?” Celia asked.

  “You’re coming?” I asked. “I don’t think we’ll need any more servers.”

  “I’m helping with the food prep, and cooking,” Celia said, which was a subtle dig at the fact that I can’t cook. “And your Mom said I can be in charge of the entertainment.”

  My brain went into panic mode. When Filipinos opt for entertainment at a party, there’s a 99.99 percent chance they mean karaoke. Despite being my mother’s daughter, I hate karaoke. I can only surmise my cringe-y, embarrassed reaction to singing into a tinny mic must’ve been inherited from my father’s side of the family.

  Before I could delve into the matter further, I overheard a familiar masculine voice on the other side of the restaurant.

  “Are Christy and Jo around?” It sounded like DC Cooper, the police detective, who was the officer in charge of Harold Sanders’s murder investigation.

  He’s also incredibly handsome in that distinguished early salt-and-pepper hair kind of way. Picture a young Ed Harris meets Henry Rollins. I forced myself to contain the ridiculous teenager-style giddiness that flooded through me.

  “They’re over here,” Jennifer, Wenling’s daughter, said as she led the handsome detective to our side of the restaurant.

  “I was here grabbing some takeout and just thought I’d say hello.”

  “Come join us,” Mom said.

  Celia raised her eyebrows at me and smiled. I ignored her. There was an awkward silence. I wondered if he was really here to see me. I knew I should say something, but nothing came to mind.

  “Th
anks for the offer, but I can’t stay, and besides,” he said waving at the paperwork, “looks like you all have a lot of paperwork to fill out.”

  “It’s just details for Tita Jo’s new case,” Celia said.

  I wanted to throttle her. DC Cooper’s smile turned into a thin line and he said, “What case is that?”

  “She means our new catering job,” I said, giving Celia a light kick under the table.

  “You two are breaking the law, you know,” DC Cooper said, his face stern.

  Mom laughed. “No, we’re just working out the catering menu and looking over some stuff for a friend.”

  DC sighed. “Listen,” he said, shaking his head and reaching into his pocket. “Tell your friend that if she needs some real investigating done, I know someone who can do it for her.”

  There was something about the way he said “real investigating” that dug into my pride a bit. Sure, I’d been having doubts, but Mom found the killer and solved his last case in an afternoon.

  DC handed Mom a business card. She smiled and tucked it into her purse.

  “Maybe your friend should’ve helped you with the Harold Sanders case instead of Mom and me,” I heard myself say. “Oh wait. Mom not only figured out exactly how and why the killer did it, she made him confess.” Celia’s eyes went wide, and she had an expression that said, “Ooh you burned him,” which made me certain I’d gone too far. But I couldn’t back down now.

  “I’m just trying to look out for you, but if you break the law and I catch you, I’m going to have to do my job.”

  Mom shot me a look, and I uncrossed my arms.

  “It’s not like that, DC,” Mom said in a calm voice. “We’re just going to serve them some ribs and apple pie. Maybe gossip and tell Barbara what we heard. No detective work.”

  “I’ll let you guys get back to your dinner,” he said and left.

  My heart sank. Not only had I made a horrible impression on my crush, I just put our not-at-all-legal investigation/catering scheme on the police radar.

  “Let’s finish our dinner so we can get our shopping list together,” Mom said, breaking the silence in the wake of DC’s exit. “Tomorrow is a big cooking day.”