by Parker, Ava
“She pretty?”
“Beautiful.”
“Beauty and success can piss off a lot of people.”
Kincaid grunted. “But who?”
Carlisle had been looking through the detritus on the floor. “Anything here?”
“We’ll see,” said Iverson. “We got a lot of fingerprints, some hair and fibers, and the ME will check her body for trace. We won’t know till we start processing.”
“We talked to her boyfriend today,” said Carlisle and Iverson snapped to attention.
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I just did. Harry Reynolds. Floor manager at Gigi’s Bistro on the Waterfront. The very same restaurant at which Madeline Gardner was last seen. Plus, the owners of Gigi’s also own a wine and liquor supply company that provides Dovetail with its wine. Double-plus, the owners of Gigi’s also own several successful restaurants in Seattle and may or may not have had an interest in buying Dovetail, should its owners become interested in selling. You know, if the business isn’t doing as well as everyone seems to think.”
“Or if one of the owners turns up missing or dead and the other owner has to sell?” suggested Iverson.
“We know Madeline was making inquiries about the myriad ways in which a restaurant can lose money in spite of high turnover and low overhead,” added Kincaid.
“Embezzlement?”
“We don’t know,” said Carlisle, “and we don’t have cause to look into Dovetail’s financials, so it’s all speculation.”
“What do you think of the boyfriend?”
“Harry?” Carlisle thought for a second. “He’s ambitious, fastidious in appearance, he likes Maddy Gardner. Hard to say how much though. He was working the night Madeline went missing, and we alibied him at Gigi’s until ten-thirty, but since we have a twelve-hour-plus gap between the last time she was seen and the time she was noticed missing, we can’t rule Harry out.”
“Who was she having dinner with?”
“A guy named Ben Radcliffe. Money guy, venture capital or something. He’s just a friend, or so he says, but he has a pretty good alibi, and if the same guy who took Madeline did this,” Kincaid gestured around the room, “he’s got a great alibi. Us. We interviewed him this afternoon. He came in around three, but he couldn’t have beaten a woman to death at two o’clock or even one o’clock and then walked into the station without blood and guts all over him. Plus, he said he came from a meeting at his office and a sit-down with Maddy’s sister before that. Should be easy to rule him out.”
“For Susan,” Carlisle clarified.
“Right, for Susan, but between you and me, I don’t like him for the chef either.”
Iverson looked at Carlisle, who shrugged and said, “Me neither, but until we know exactly when she disappeared, we can’t rule anyone out with certainty.”
“Hard to check an alibi when you don’t have a time,” said Iverson. “Let’s collaborate on this one for now. If it turns out to be a coincidence, we can separate the investigations.” He paused, then added, “But that doesn’t seem likely.”
They all agreed on that and Kincaid asked, “Where’s Tanaka?”
“He went back to the station to start the paperwork. We gotta get her phone records tout de suite and my partner lost the coin toss.”
Kincaid chuckled. “I bet the ladies love it when you speak French.”
“Fuck off, Kincaid,” said Iverson without venom. “I’m picking him up when I’m done here and we’ll get to the boyfriend and the workplace tonight.”
“Boyfriend is working tonight. You’ll find him at Gigi’s. What about us?” Carlisle looked at her partner.
“Well, the interview with Susan is off but we still need to talk to the bartender at Dovetail. You wanna get there first?” he asked Iverson.
“Nah, we’ll hit the boyfriend first. Let’s do a one-two punch. You talk to the staff at Dovetail about your missing person and then Tanaka and I will come in later and tell them their floor manager is dead.” He pulled his phone from a clip on his belt buckle “Lemme confer.” Iverson stepped into the bedroom to call his partner at the station. He emerged a minute later and said, “It’s a plan.”
When Carlisle and Kincaid were back outside they decided to leave Jerry’s car and ride together. “Dovetail?” asked Carlisle.
Kincaid looked at the clock on the dash. “Perfect timing. It’s rush hour at the restaurant and they’re down a manager.”
“Something tells me you’re going to enjoy this, Jerry.” She pulled out and headed south toward Maddy’s restaurant.
“Life is about smelling the roses, Judy. If you can’t enjoy interrupting a restaurant in full swing to ask a bartender about a missing woman, you’re not taking advantage of the little things God gives us every day.”
Carlisle grinned; she was looking forward to this. She was especially looking forward to catching Michelle Perkins off guard. By the time they parked and walked through the entrance to Dovetail it was seven-thirty and the dining room was packed.
The man who jogged to the host stand looked harried. He was in his early to mid-forties with a head shaved to mask his bald pate and a five o’clock shadow that made him look a little rough around the edges. Taller than Carlisle and shorter than Kincaid put him around six feet. The grey broadcloth shirt tucked into black wool trousers showed his muscular physique and matched his whiskers. With a tense smile, he eyed the two cops standing by the host stand, a flicker of recognition passing through his gaze before he blinked it away.
“Good evening folks, are you here for dinner?”
“No such luck,” Kincaid said and showed his badge. “Detective Kincaid, and this is my partner, Detective Carlisle.”
The man’s plastered-on smile disappeared. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We’re packed. Can’t you come back after the dinner rush?”
“I’m afraid not. You see, sir, the clock is ticking on Madeline Gardner.”
The man’s face changed instantly from irritation to resignation. “Sorry, you’re right. It’s just that we’re completely full and one of our employees didn’t show up tonight.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m Eddie Perkins, just here helping out while Maddy’s gone. I mean, until she comes back. You’ve met Michelle, my wife. The three of us own this place together, but generally I’m only here to eat. Here, let me get you a seat at the bar. Who do you want to talk to?”
“The bartender will do for right now. Then we’d like a minute or two with everyone as time permits.”
Carlisle could tell that Eddie Perkins was exasperated. He could barely keep from rolling his eyes as he pulled out a barstool and gestured for her to take a seat. There were several other people at the bar but he had led them to the far end where no one was likely to hear their questions. Declining to sit, the detectives stood until Eddie gave up and walked away. Then Carlisle leaned over and said, “He made us the second we walked in.”
“Our new friend Eddie has some experience with the law.”
“Have a seat,” said the bartender, approaching them. “What can I get you?”
Neither detective sat down. “We’re good,” said Kincaid, flashing his badge once again. “We’re here to ask a few questions about Madeline Gardner.”
“Oh, man,” said the bartender, “yeah, let me get a few drinks for the dining room and I’ll be right back with you.”
“Take your time,” said Carlisle, flashing a charming grin.
When the bartender went back to mixing drinks, Kincaid said, “Flirt.”
“He’s cute.”
“He’s half your age and you’re married.”
“Are you feeling left out, Jerry?” she teased.
“Whatever. I guess you’re good cop tonight.”
“Not with Michelle. I’m looking
forward to playing that bad cop.”
Kincaid nodded in the direction of the dining room. “Business is booming but Eddie is out of his element.” Michelle’s husband was not handling the dinner rush with grace. He put a finger up dismissively when a couple walked through the door and took a call at the host stand. He kept stopping the waitstaff to ask them questions when they were hurrying hot food or drinks to their tables. He looked like a Tasmanian devil at the ballet.
The bartender returned. “I’m Joe Bailey, bartender extraordinaire.” He smiled straight at Carlisle, who was giving it right back. “Are you sure I can’t get you something?”
“We’re good, Joe. Just here to talk about Madeline Gardner. What can you tell us?”
“I don’t know. I mean, she’s great. Brilliant chef, super nice.”
“Pretty,” said Kincaid, raising his eyebrows.
Joe didn’t take the bait. “Gorgeous! Everybody thinks so. But she’s really cool. She never freaks out, no matter how busy we get, and head chefs can get away with handing out a lot of abuse, trust me. But Maddy never blows her top. She’s always mellow.”
“Nothing bothering her lately?” asked Carlisle.
“Not that I noticed. I mean, she’s in the kitchen and I’m out here, so I guess I might not notice. And she’s my boss. She’s friendly, but not my friend.”
“So you don’t know anything about her personal life?”
“’Fraid not.”
“Ever notice a customer paying too much attention?”
“Her sister asked me that too. I didn’t. Although Maddy is kind of a flirt with the customers. They eat it up. She comes out once or twice during a dinner service and checks on tables, does a walk-through in the bar. Makes everyone feel special and then drifts back into the kitchen. People are always trying to get her to stay longer, but she just smiles and laughs and says something like, ‘If I stay here, you’ll never get your supper,’ and then everyone laughs.”
“She sounds charming,” said Kincaid.
“She is. I just don’t understand what happened to her.”
“Business is good?”
“Always. The sister asked about that too. Is there any reason to think it isn’t? I mean, look around.”
“Is it always this busy?”
“Yeah. The bar will pick up in an hour too, but we don’t stay open long past the dining room. Mostly overflow and the cocktail and hors d’oeuvres crowd. I go to school too, engineering at Seattle University, so I didn’t want to work someplace where the bar stays open super late. I do really well just making drinks and pouring wine for the waitstaff.”
“They share tips?” asked Carlisle.
“Yeah, they tip me out a percentage.”
“How do you know they’re being straight with you?” asked Kincaid for no reason other than to antagonize the guy.
Joe looked irritated. “I don’t, but if I think someone’s skimping, maybe I screw up their drinks, or take my time making them. Their customers get upset, they don’t get great tips.”
“Dog eat dog world.”
“The threat keeps people honest, detective.”
“Anyone causing you to slow down his or her service lately, Joe?” Kincaid had a definite edge in his tone now and Joe’s boy-next-door attitude slipped a little more. Carlisle watched him closely.
“No. Everyone here is fair. What does this have to do with Maddy, anyway?”
“Everyone is fair and everyone loves Madeline Gardner. But she’s missing and something ain’t right.”
The two men glowered at each other until Carlisle stepped in again with a soothing tone. “Joe, you said someone didn’t show up tonight?”
He broke the standoff with Kincaid. “Yeah. Susan. She’s the floor manager.” Joe’s expression softened to something like worry. “She just didn’t show up. Michelle called her like ten times and then Eddie came in, and the restaurant got crazy.”
“Is that unusual, Joe?”
“Yes, if unusual means it’s never happened before. Susan is reliable. I didn’t give it much thought until now because we’ve been so busy, but do you think it could have anything to do with Maddy?”
“What do you mean, Joe?”
“I mean, Maddy disappeared, and now Susan doesn’t show up for work and doesn’t even call. That’s a weird coincidence, isn’t it?”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself, kid,” said Kincaid with a predatory smile.
They asked the bartender a few more questions before Carlisle found Eddie and asked him to start sending the waitstaff their way. The first two servers repeated the same ‘everybody loves Maddy’ routine they’d been getting from everyone they interviewed, but the third had something more interesting to say.
“I’ve only been working here for like two weeks, but I don’t think Maddy and Michelle like each other very much.”
“What makes you think that?” said Carlisle casually, trying not to betray her sudden interest.
“I mean, they just seemed to avoid each other.”
“But they worked different hours, right?”
“Yeah, mostly, but there was still crossover. Maddy would come in to prep for dinner in the afternoon and Michelle doesn’t usually leave until after five.”
Neither detective said anything, waiting for the young woman to go on. She scanned the dining room and was apparently satisfied that none of her customers needed her. She turned back to them. “They would walk past each other without saying a word. Like, obviously looking in opposite directions so they wouldn’t make eye contact. And when they did have to talk, it was really tense and Michelle would make little digs.”
“What digs?” asked Carlisle.
“Like, Michelle would say, ‘I’ll take care of that in the morning,’ and then go, ‘then you can check my work in the evening.’ Like Maddy had been critical of her or something and she was pissed off about it.”
“Any idea what that something might have been?”
“I didn’t really pay attention. Hey, I have to get back to my tables. Gotta keep everyone happy.” She gave them a long-suffering wave as she walked away.
“Well, that was interesting.”
“Indeed.” Kincaid nodded thoughtfully. “I think we should go ask Mrs. Perkins about her relationship with Madeline.”
They walked around the corner of the bar and straight into the kitchen. Michelle was standing by the window checking two hot plates before she put them in the window for pick-up. “Two more pork belly specials!” she called out to her cooks and turned to see that they were all staring at the kitchen door.
Evidently, Eddie hadn’t told his wife they were there because when Michelle saw the detectives standing casually in the doorway her expression went from shock to rage. “What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?”
Carlisle had heard worse. “We came to ask why you and Maddy haven’t been getting along.”
Her mouth dropped open and she picked up a towel to wipe her hands. “Take over,” she barked at the sous chef before throwing the towel onto a stainless steel countertop and storming out ahead of the detectives.
They followed her down a hallway and into an office featuring shades of beige under fluorescent lighting. Against one wall sat a taupe upholstered sofa with threadbare pillows and a folded stack of quilts and blankets probably meant for long days and nights at the restaurant. Another wall was lined with metal filing cabinets and pressed against a third was an oversized wooden desk with a twenty-seven-inch Mac, a stack of restaurant supply catalogs, and a litter of papers, envelopes, and coffee mugs.
Michelle perched on the edge of her desk with her arms folded across her chest. She nodded at two plastic folding chairs. “Have a seat.”
The detectives did not sit and she went on, “You c
an’t just march into my kitchen in the middle of service and lob accusations at me in front of my cooks!”
Carlisle took the lead and with absolutely no sincerity she replied, “I never intended to accuse you, Mrs. Perkins. My apologies if it came across that way. As for our timing, your schedule doesn’t have much impact on our ongoing search for your friend and business partner, Madeline Gardner.”
Michelle glared back at the detective. “Tell me what the fuck you want and then get out of my way, detective. I’m as scared as anybody about Maddy, but I have to keep us in business so that when she comes back, she still has a restaurant.”
“Or she doesn’t come back, and you have the restaurant all to yourself?”
Michelle nearly sputtered, “That’s beyond ridiculous! I’m drowning here without Maddy, and frankly, to suggest that I would hurt my best friend is disgusting.”
“You’ll hire another chef, move onward and upward.” While she spoke, Carlisle perched casually on the arm of the sofa. “It’s hard to go into business with friends and yours wouldn’t be the first friendship to fall apart when money becomes involved. Maybe Maddy started questioning your business tactics, maybe she’s more popular with the staff or the patrons? She’s obviously the better chef, maybe she was getting all of the praise and you were stuck in the background counting receipts in this miserable room.” Carlisle gestured around the depressing office. “Maybe Maddy was too critical of you, even though she doesn’t know the first thing about managing a restaurant? She can run a kitchen, but without you she’s just a chef, not a restaurateur. Wasn’t she appreciative enough? What happened Monday night, Michelle? Did Maddy call you after dinner with her friend in finance with more questions about where the profits were going? Did you decide to shut her up?”