Apple Pies and Alibis

by Christy Murphy

  “How long was it after you left his office that the fire alarm went off?” I asked.

  “I thought you were still in his office when the alarm went off,” Wenling said.

  “No, it went off maybe a minute after I left,” Barbara answered.

  Wenling shrugged her shoulders. Before I could say more, a police car entered the parking lot with its lights flashing. We followed it to the back of the building, where Rick Heller’s body was.

  “What did he fall on top of?” Barbara asked as she looked at him.

  “What do you mean?” Mom asked squinting to see better.

  “The orange plastic,” Barbara said.

  “He’s wearing it. It’s like a poncho,” I said.

  We walked closer to get a better look.

  “He wasn’t wearing that when I left his office,” Barbara said. I didn’t think she was lying. I glanced at Mom. It looked like she agreed with me.

  “It’s a terrible color,” Celia said, shifting the weight of the karaoke machine to her other hip.

  “It’s a disposable raincoat in safety orange,” Mom said, her voice certain. “We need to go back upstairs.”

  The three of us started toward the building, but were stopped by a uniformed police officer.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “We have to go back upstairs,” Mom said.

  “Not happening,” he said.

  “But the ribs will spoil, and we left the margarita machine on,” Mom said.

  The officer turned his attention to Barbara. “Are you the CEO of Turing Tech?”

  Barbara nodded. “I am.”

  “The detectives over there need to talk to you,” he said. “Follow me.”

  “You have to help me, Jo,” Barbara said as the man led her away. “Prove to everyone I didn’t do it.”

  The officer led Barbara Turing away.

  I caught sight of one of the detectives, and his profile looked familiar, but he was blocked by a taller, dark-haired man. The dark-haired man moved.

  “Oh no!” I said.

  “What?” Mom said.

  Staring back at me was Detective DC Cooper. “It’s DC Cooper.”

  Mom smiled and waved, but DC did not wave back. He shook his head and then went back to his conversation. What was he doing here? We were in Pasadena, not Fletcher Canyon.

  A little later, Barbara Turing left the parking lot in the back of a police car.

  The four of us waited a while in the parking lot. Mom wanted to convince the police to let us upstairs.

  “You’re going to have to pay another day on the margarita machine rental,” Wenling told Mom.

  “I’ll just add it to the bill,” Mom said.

  “You better get the money before her lawyers,” Wenling said.

  “Wen,” Mom said, shushing her friend.

  But my mind was stuck on the idea that we might not get paid, and the worry that we might have chosen the wrong person as the mole. What if it was Ivan? Or even Madison?

  “I guess we can just go home,” Celia said.

  “Can you take me to the restaurant?” Wenling said to Celia. Her eagerness to ride with Celia was a transparent critique of my driving.

  “Sure,” Celia said, “so they can go straight home. I need to pick up clothes from the dry cleaner downtown anyway.”

  Celia, like all the residents in Fletcher Canyon, referred to Main Street with its two dozen stores and three eateries as “downtown.” When I was a teenager I thought it was silly, but now I thought it was quaint.

  Mom waited for them to leave and then said, “You saw how she was surprised he was wearing the raincoat, didn’t you, kid? The killer would have known he was wearing a raincoat.” I agreed. It was so bright it would be hard to miss.

  I followed Mom through the crowd and realized she was headed right for one of the detectives who appeared to be interviewing Tina. Mom sidled up to the two of them. I thought for sure he would shoo her away, but he didn’t. I slipped around behind him to stand on his other side to eavesdrop.

  “So you were in the conference room right next to the deceased’s office?” the detective asked Tina.

  “Yes, but then I got up to put my name in for karaoke,” Tina answered.

  “And who was with you in the conference room before you left?”

  “Madison, Henry, and I were all talking about what songs to sing. There were others in the room though.” She paused to think. “Kumar, Justin, and Asaf were there, too, eating ribs. I think that was everyone. I’m not sure.”

  “And they were all there until the fire alarm made everyone evacuate?” he asked.

  “As far as I know. Somebody could have slipped out while I went to put my name in.”

  “And when did you enter the office of the deceased?”

  “I popped my head into the office to tell him we had to leave, but he wasn’t in there,” she said.

  “And when was that?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a couple of minutes after the alarm went off? Madison and Henry were the ones who figured out he’d been pushed out the window.”

  “Why do you say pushed?” the officer asked.

  “Or fallen,” Tina said, realizing she’d slipped. Looked like Wenling wasn’t the only one who thought Barbara killed him.

  “Did you hear them fight?” the officer asked.

  Tina hesitated.

  “I’m confirming what I already know. If you’re not forthcoming, as a cop, I’m going to have to ask myself why.”

  Sheesh. And I thought DC was intimidating. Tina’s lower lip began to shake, and her eyes went wide. “She’s a great boss. She wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Tina looked like she was going to cry.

  “Easy now. It’s okay,” the detective said, his discomfort with emotions showing in his stiff body language and expression.

  “It’s not okay,” Tina said as a tear ran down her cheek. “Without Barbara, there’s no Turing Tech. I need this job. I love this job. She’s the best boss I ever had.”

  Mom stepped in and put her arm around Tina’s shoulder. “I’m sure Barbara didn’t do it. It’ll be fine. Tell him what you know.”

  “Rick and Barbara were yelling at each other before Rick”—Tina paused to think of how to put it—“left the building?”

  “Through the window,” the detective said.

  “I guess so,” Tina said looking at the ground.

  “And did Rick say anything in particular that stands out?” he asked.

  Tina sighed and then mumbled. “He might have said something like ‘Don’t push me.’”

  “And did you know what the argument was about?”

  Tina shook her head no.

  “All right, give your information to the officer over there in case we have questions for you,” he said, pointing to a uniformed policeman.

  Tina skittered away, and the detective turned to us. “And who are you two?”

  “We’re the caterers,” Mom said.

  “Detective Cooper told me about you,” he said.

  “Great!” Mom answered like it was a good thing. “Did Henry Ruiz and Madison Winters have time to push Rick out the window?”

  The detective laughed and shook his head. “You’re too much, lady. He said you’d be like that.”

  Mom just smiled as if he’d complimented her. I tried not to look scared. The detective continued. “And where were you both when the deceased ‘left the building’?”

  “I was manning the margarita machine,” Mom said. “It’s still on, by the way. Can you let us up there so we can turn it off? I think the Sterno warming the ribs are still on, too. We don’t want a real fire.”

  “You’re not going up there,” he said. “You’re just lucky the employees can confirm that you and another Chinese lady were nowhere near the deceased’s office.”

  “I’m Filipino. My friend Wenling is Chinese.”

  The officer turned to me. “But nobody can account for you.”

  Not agai
n! Why am I always a suspect in these things? “I was down here heading to our van for stuff to pack up,” I said, pointing to our van.

  “Can anybody confirm that?” he asked.

  “I sent her downstairs,” Mom said.

  His expression looked far from convinced. “But did anyone see you down here?”

  “I was down here,” I insisted, beginning to panic. “I was standing right over there,” I said, pointing to the spot on the driveway, “on my way to our van when I heard a piece of plastic or something drop.”

  “Plastic?” he asked.

  “It sounded like plastic anyway,” I said and proceeded to recount what happened in way too much detail.

  I must’ve bored the man to death, because he put his pad away and instructed us to stay out of the building and give our information to the same paunchy officer he pointed out to Tina. Then I remembered. I was the one who dialed 911 and reported the entire incident. Did he not know that or was he just messing with me on purpose?

  Mom was all smiles as we walked over to the policeman and gave him our information if they wanted to question us later.

  “Kid,” Mom said. “You proved that Barbara couldn’t have been the murderer.”

  “Only if she wasn’t in the room when the alarm went off,” I said.

  “I think I remember her not being in there,” Mom said.

  I gave Mom a serious look. “Mom, you can’t do that with this.”

  “Do what?”

  “You can’t change the facts around to suit your premise. This isn’t like when I was a kid and you told us that the dog ran away.”

  “He did!”

  “All of them, Mom? All of our pets ran away and never died.”

  Mom ignored me and stared at something on the other side of the parking lot. “I think someone else might want to talk to us.” She pointed with her lips, and I turned to see Detective Cooper crossing the parking lot. His blue shirt was buttoned slightly at the top, and my eyes glanced at the little bit of man chest exposed. What the heck was wrong with me?

  “You two are in the middle of trouble again,” he said.

  Mom laughed, but I wasn’t sure he was joking. “Hi DC!” she said, as if we weren’t standing in front of a dead body.

  “Two deaths in two weeks. Pretty soon, you’re going to look like a bunch of serial killers,” he said, coming to a stop right in front of me.

  Mom laughed some more and gave him a playful push, but I wasn’t so sure he was joking. “DC,” Mom said. “I don’t think Barbara did it. I think it had to be someone else. Christy was out here, and she remembers hearing the body smack into the ground after the fire alarm went off.”

  I winced at Mom’s casual, but accurate, description of Rick Heller’s death.

  DC turned to me. “That memory thing of yours again?” he asked.

  “You don’t need a great memory to remember when a fire alarm went off and then a man plummeted out of a seventeenth-story window. It’s memorable on its own.”

  He nodded in agreement, the first sign he might not be entirely angry with us. “So how does the fire alarm going off and then him hitting the ground preclude Barbara from pushing him out the window?”

  “Barbara left his office before the alarm went off,” Mom said.

  “We think,” I added, giving Mom a hard look.

  “How do you not know with your memory?” DC added.

  “I was down here, remember?” I said.

  DC laughed. “Do you know why he’s wrapped in plastic?” DC asked.

  “It’s a disposable raincoat” Mom said.

  “In safety orange,” I added.

  “You shouldn’t be poking around here. Why don’t you go home?”

  “Our stuff is upstairs, DC. All the leftover barbecue pork is going to go bad if we don’t pack it up,” Mom said.

  He sighed. “They’re letting people up with a uniform escort to gather their things pretty soon. I’ll put you guys at the top of the list so you can get out of here and stop snooping.”

  “Any suspects?” Mom asked.

  DC was distracted as the ambulance loaded up and left. “Just the obvious one.”

  “Not even Madison Winters or Henry Ruiz?” Mom asked.

  He turned back to look at Mom. “What makes you ask about those two?”

  “They were in the conference room right next to his office,” Mom said. “They could have slipped in during all the commotion and done the deed.”

  DC laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Too many people can account for them at the party. As a matter of fact, everyone at the party can prove they weren’t in Rick Heller’s office.”

  “Everyone has alibis,” Mom said, deep in thought.

  “Everyone but Barbara and Christy,” DC said.

  “I made the 911 call,” I said in my own defense. “Aren’t you out of your jurisdiction here anyway?”

  “I was asked here to help,” DC said and then added, “making that call just means you were the first one to know he was dead. It’s not much of an alibi.”

  Mom laughed and gave DC a friendly nudge as he walked away, but I wasn’t sure he was joking at all.

  Officer Jordan, Mom, and I stepped onto the elevator. I was carrying a shopping bag filled with tinfoil and garbage bags I’d gotten from the van. The stress of our amateur sleuthiness weighed on my shoulders. I wasn’t even qualified to be a caterer, let alone a caterer who solves crime. All I wanted to do was go home, sleep, and pretend this mess didn’t exist.

  The elevator doors opened. “Follow me,” Mom whispered in my ear as she walked fast past the officer. My stomach churned with stress, but I followed.

  “We’ll hurry,” Mom yelled back to the officer. “I know you have a lot of people to let up here.”

  “Appreciate that,” the portly officer said, dropping farther behind us.

  I expected Mom to start packing up the margarita machine, but she whizzed by it. I sensed what she was up to. Horrified, I continued to follow.

  “Um, ma’am,” the officer’s voice said from behind is, his voice sounding uncertain. Mom did the thing where she pretended like she didn’t hear him, ducked under the crime scene tape, and entered Rick Heller’s office. I stopped at the tape and waited for us to be arrested.

  “Ma’am!” the officer called out. “You can’t be in there!”

  I peered inside the office from behind the tape. Mom was at the window. It was still wide open. Mom poked her head through the opening and looked down. She was careful not to touch the glass or put her hands on the window frame. I worried she might fall out.

  “Ma’am!” the officer said, huffing and puffing as he stood next to me. “This is a crime scene.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mom said, stepping away from the window and scanning the office some more. “I thought Rick had taken my good set of mini barbecue tongs. I wanted to see if they were still here.”

  The officer ducked under the tape and grabbed Mom’s arm. “You’ll have to leave them in here if he did.”

  “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble by letting me come in here,” Mom said.

  The man’s eyes widened as he held up the tape for Mom to duck under. “You didn’t touch anything, did you?”

  “No,” Mom said, heading over to the tables where we had food.

  “Then let’s just not say anything about it,” he said. Instead of us getting into trouble, Mom made this man feel like he’d get in trouble more than she would for interfering with the crime scene.

  “You can eat these ribs while we pack up,” she said, making him a plate and handing it to him.

  The policeman accepted the ribs, and all was forgiven. I set down my shopping bag and hurried to pack everything up before Mom got us all into trouble.

  Mom and I entered the house through the kitchen door off the garage. I longed for food and sleep. Our newfound cat, Moriarty, danced between my legs, threatening to trip me and my armful of ribs. My mind conjured up the image of Mom’s new w
hite carpet and sofa stained with barbecue-sauced kitty footprints.

  “Moriarty,” Mom sang as she kneeled to pet him. He dutifully left me alone. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I’d worked up a mean craving for the leftover ribs and apple pie.

  Mom didn’t want any food and left the kitchen. So I plated a few of the biggest ribs for myself, pushed the rest into the fridge, and grabbed a diet soda. I exhaled as I sat down and took a giant chomp of the ribs. I hadn’t even bothered to heat it. Ah. So good. My entire body relaxed. Yes, I’m a stress eater, but I’m also a sleepy eater, and a happy eater.

  The text from my ex popped in my mind, destroying my sense of rib-induced peace. Was I being petty by not returning his texts? A wave of guilt crashed over me, killing my appetite. I guess I wasn’t a guilty eater. I reached for my phone, but was distracted by the sound of Mom talking on her cell. Her voice grew louder as she came closer to the kitchen.

  “Yes, we’re still up. Just eating leftovers and feeding the cat. Come on over,” Mom said as she entered the room. “We’ll figure it out.”

  I pushed my phone back into my pocket, wondering who she was talking to. Although, I had my suspicions.

  “She’s coming.” Mom said after she hung up. The excitement in her voice confirmed my suspicion.

  “Barbara?”

  “She’s out on bail.”

  “Why did you tell her we’d ‘figure it out’?”

  “She didn’t do it, kid.”

  “What if she did, and we’re responsible for giving her motive?”

  Mom didn’t answer me.

  “And what if we were wrong? It could have been Madison or Ivan, or our theory about the people with gaps in their communication was wrong. We could be helping a murderer, and maybe even gave her cause to push an innocent man out the window.”

  Mom frowned. Another wave of guilt washed over me. I was the one who came up with the idea of catering the party as a way to get around the fact that we weren’t licensed investigators. Barbara had walked away, and I’d stopped her. All of this was my fault.

  We all were seated at the kitchen table. Mom handed Barbara a tissue. Our client wasn’t full-on crying, but a few tears had escaped. My notion that she might be responsible for Rick Heller’s death dwindled to near nothingness.