“Hey,” he said. “It’s nice of you to drop by. Were you seeing Candice?”
“No, actually I’m here just to see you,” she said. “I just left the deli. I found out something weird about that guy, Brody.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“Did you know that the woman we saw with him wasn’t his wife — she was his girlfriend?”
“So, he’s not married, that’s not so weird…”
“But he was married,” she said. “To a woman named Paula.”
At this David frowned. “You’re saying… he was having an affair?”
“Yes, and he took his mistress out to eat on Valentine’s Day… instead of his wife.”
“That’s cold,” he said. “I feel a bit less bad for him now.”
“Right, but what if his wife or his girlfriend had something to do with his death? I mean, finding out that your husband is having an affair would definitely be a motive for murder.”
“I agree that it’s a motive, but how could his wife have slipped the peanuts into his food at the restaurant?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed and sat down on the couch.
“What was the guy’s last name?” David asked. “Brody…?”
“Let me see.” Moira pulled up the same article that Jenny had shown her on her phone. “Brody Beaker.”
“Hmm, that name is familiar. Why do I feel like he was involved with one of my cases?”
David opened his laptop and typed quickly. Moira watched, interested. She enjoyed helping David with his work, but had to admit that she didn’t even begin to understand his system. How he could ever find anything was a complete mystery to her.
“His name’s on here, but it’s an old case, before I started keeping track of cases with a computer. His file must be in my filing cabinet somewhere.”
Moira pulled out her keys and found the small silver one that went to the huge, ancient file cabinet in the corner. He had given her a copy of his keys just a few weeks ago when she had offered to assist him when she could in her spare time. She knew that a lot of the information about his cases was confidential, and whenever she got the chance to go digging through the files she felt a bit guilty. She would never use the information to hurt someone, but it still felt weird to be digging through people’s deepest, darkest secrets. As a private investigator, David saw a lot of the darker side of the two small norther Michigan towns.
“Under B,” she muttered to herself, flipping through the files. “I don’t see a Brody Beaker.”
“Try his wife’s name,” he said. “If I remember right, she was my client.”
“Here it is, Paula Beaker,” she said.
She pulled the file out. It was unusually thick. She handed it to David, then watched as he flipped through it. To her surprise, he chuckled.
“What?” she asked.
“Oh, Brody was definitely having an affair. He had more than one, and his wife has known about it for years. I’m surprised I didn’t make the connection sooner. This guy saw about five different women while I was tailing him.”
“Wait, his wife knew about his affair — or affairs — for years, and stayed with him? I mean, he obviously didn’t stop seeing other women.”
“All I remember is that she said she was going to confront him about it. This was years ago. She was pretty upset, understandably. I never heard anything else, which isn’t unusual.”
“Maybe he told her he would stop, but he didn’t,” Moira mused. “Or maybe she knew about it all along and finally snapped.”
“Plausible,” David said. “But there’s still the question of how she would have slipped the peanuts to him.”
“Well…” the deli owner frowned. “The other night, Denise told me that they never actually proved that it was the soup that was contaminated. The bowl got knocked to the floor, and the soup spilled everywhere. I guess the police found traces of peanuts in the spill, but it could have been something that was already on the floor. Maybe he didn’t ingest the peanuts at the restaurant, but she sneaked them to him at home before he left instead.”
David considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “It wouldn’t take that long for the reaction to start. He had been at the restaurant nearly as long as we were. These allergies happen much more quickly. You saw how sudden it was. It wasn’t a gradual thing.”
Moira groaned and sat back down. She desperately wanted to find a way for the man’s death to not be the grill’s fault, but she kept hitting dead ends.
“You really think his death was an accident, even after what we know?”
“I do,” he said. “Just because someone had a motive to kill him, doesn’t mean they did it. The simple answer is that a peanut accidentally got into his food. Trying to find a murder in that is a reach.”
“All right.” She sighed. “I’m going to go home. It started to snow on my way over, and the longer I wait, the worse the roads will be. What time will you be back?”
“Sometime this evening,” he told her. “I was going to swing by the brewery later. Karissa’s meeting me there. She has some logo ideas, and wants to talk about what our first craft beer should be. We need to come up with something unique to really get our names out there.”
“Good luck,” she said. “I’m sure the two of you will come up with something wonderful.”
She gave him a quick kiss then grabbed her bag and headed out the door, trying to push all thoughts of murder and death out of her mind. She had the rest of the afternoon free, and she was determined to enjoy it.
Chapter Nine
* * *
“That’s wonderful news,” Moira said, keeping her cell phone tucked between her cheek and her shoulder as she scratched behind Keeva’s ears. The wolfhound wagged her tail at the sound of her owner’s voice, even though the words weren’t directed at her. “David’s busy at the brewery, but I’ll stop in for lunch.”
She hung up, smiling broadly. She was relieved to hear from Denise that she had been given the all-clear to reopen the grill, and her head chef had been given permission to return to work as well. She knew how much the restaurant meant to her friend. If their positions had been reversed and she had been waiting on a verdict for the deli, she knew that she would have been a nervous wreck. The other woman had held up remarkably well, better than Moira thought that she herself would in a similar situation.
After saying a quick goodbye to the dogs, who looked disappointed that she was leaving so soon after getting home from her shift at the deli, Moira locked the front door behind her and headed towards her metallic green SUV. She had lived in town for most of her life, but had gotten used to living secluded in the forest surprisingly quickly. She only rarely felt uncomfortable surrounded and closed in by the trees, and today was one of those days. The skies were gray, making it darker than it should be in mid-afternoon. Small snowflakes were falling rapidly, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of her. The wind blew intermittently, sending up flurries of snow which in turn created strange shadows and flashes of motion in the distance. Anyone could be standing just outside of her range of vision and she would never know it.
Suppressing a shiver, Moira mentally berated herself for getting creeped out. No one was lurking in the snow waiting to startle her. The woods around her house were empty, except perhaps for some harmless wildlife.
Still, the deli owner was glad when she reached her car and locked herself safely inside. The snow was light and powdery, and the front and rear wipers handled it just fine. She let the car warm up for a few seconds, then put it into gear and, trying to remember where her driveway was under all of that white, backed down the drive and into the road.
She didn’t like driving in the snow. The roads were barely visible, and it was next to impossible to tell what lane she was in. Thankfully, traffic was next to non-existent, and she was free to drive as slowly as she liked. She normally wouldn’t go out in weather like this, but she wanted to see her friend in person and cel
ebrate the reopening of the grill. Things were starting to look up, at last.
The restaurant’s parking lot was nearly empty when she arrived. Only a few lonely vehicles were huddled together in the spots closest to the building. Moira parked near them and hurried inside, relieved to get out of the cold and into the warm building.
The waitress that came up to seat her recognized her instantly. “Oh, I’ll tell Ms. Donovan that you’re here,” she said. “You can sit wherever you want. We aren’t very busy today.”
Since it was just her, Moira opted to take one of the smaller tables near the front. It didn’t take long before her friend appeared, all smiles and energy.
“I’m glad you could make it,” she said to Moira. “Sorry, I didn’t realize how bad the weather had gotten. What can I get you? Anything you like. It’s on the house today.”
“Oh, I don’t mind paying,” the deli owner began.
“Nonsense. This is a celebration.” Her friend smiled. “They gave me my chef back, and are ruling that poor man’s death an accident. How anyone could think I killed him is beyond me.”
“I think his girlfriend was just panicking,” Moira said. “No one would be thinking straight if they just watched someone they cared about die.”
Even though it was her friend’s restaurant and not hers, the deli owner felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She knew that Denise would still struggle with the fact that a slip-up in her kitchen might have caused someone’s death, but at least she wouldn’t also be worrying about legal troubles.
“So, what will it be?” her friend asked.
“Let’s see…” Moira quickly perused the lunch menu. “I’ll have the chicken salad wrap. Can I get pickles on the side instead of chips?”
“Sure thing,” Denise said. “It’ll be right out.”
Sure enough, Moira’s food arrived just minutes later. The man who was carrying it looked vaguely familiar. With a start, she realized it was the head chef. She had met him on one or two occasions previously.
“Chicken salad wrap with pickles on the side,” he said. “Ms. Donovan apologizes for not being able to bring it out herself; someone she had an appointment with arrived early.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I’m sure she must be busy trying to get everything back on track.”
“It’s been hectic,” the man admitted. “I got her call early this morning, asking if I could come in. Only a couple of the wait staff could make it on such short notice, but she wanted to open anyway. Gotta say, I don’t think it was worth it. It’s slow today.”
“It must be, for you to have time to bring the food out yourself,” she said.
To her surprise, his expression darkened. “Actually, I’m on break. The man she’s meeting with, he’s a chef she’s thinking of hiring so we’d have an extra backup. She wants to see how he does with the kitchen staff, without me around.”
“Well that’s not too bad. Having a third chef as back-up might be nice. You’ll be able to take vacations and sick days without worrying about it even if one of the other chefs is out of town.”
“Another chef means less work for the two of us, and I don’t know about Hector, but I live for the time I spend in the kitchen. Plus, he gets a say in the menu and he gets to help train the kitchen staff. The guy doesn’t have much experience. I don’t want him messing up my staff.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad. Denise probably just wants to make sure she has someone who can come in if something happens again. I know that she was upset when she learned that the police asked you not to return to work for a few days. With the other chef — Hector, was it? — out of town, she didn’t have anyone else to turn to.”
“I doubt something similar will ever happen,” he said, grumbling. “I was only held as a suspect since the guy who died was my cousin’s husband.”
“Wait, you’re related to Paula?” Moira asked.
“Yeah, that’s why I was being held as a suspect. With the affair, and the fact that I prepared his food… well, you can imagine how suspicious that looked.”
“You knew about the affair?”
“My cousin-in-law came in to eat on Valentine’s Day with a woman that wasn’t his wife.” The chef gave a dry laugh. “Everyone knew. He didn’t care.”
There was the sound of clattering dishes from the kitchen. The head chef turned to look, concern evident in his face.
“I’d better go make sure that new guy isn’t destroying my kitchen. Enjoy your meal.”
With that, he left, leaving Moira to digest what he had said while she finished her lunch.
Chapter Ten
* * *
After her interesting conversation with the chef, the rest of her luncheon at the Redwood Grill was pleasant, but quieter than she was used to. Only two other tables were taken, both by elderly couples who had probably been going to the restaurant since it opened. Moira knew that the regulars were appreciated, but the small number of guests would still be taking its toll on her friend. The simple fact was, it cost money just for the restaurant to be open. Electricity bills, gas bills, employee paychecks… it all added up, and if the grill lost more each hour than it made, it wouldn’t last very long.
How can anyone think that Denise would ever do something like that on purpose? She wondered. The man knew that his food wasn’t guaranteed to be peanut-free. He chose to eat here anyway. It’s not her fault. It’s not like she sprinkled peanuts in his soup to try to poison him. She was glad her friend was out of legal trouble, at least, but that was only one of the hurdles that the Redwood Grill needed to cross before it was back on track as Maple Creek’s most popular restaurant.
Just as she was wondering where all of the customers were, the doors to the restaurant opened and a middle-aged woman strode through. She waited only a few seconds before a waitress approached her, but she tapped her foot impatiently the entire time. At her side, she carried a thin satchel, and her eyes roamed the room restlessly. Moira couldn’t seem to stop watching her; somehow the woman didn’t seem like a normal guest.
“Just one?” the waitress asked.
“Actually, I was wondering if I could speak to your manager,” the woman said.
“What’s the problem? It may be something I can help you with.”
“I would just like to speak to your manager, please,” she said. “Could you go get her?”
Looking puzzled, the waitress hesitated only a moment longer before shrugging. “All right. Please wait here, I’ll see if she’s in.”
Moira frowned, not liking the conversation she had just overheard. There was something odd going on. She bit her lip, suddenly anxious for her friend.
A moment later, she saw Denise come out of the kitchen, followed closely by the waitress. The red-haired woman had an annoyed look on her face. Moira didn’t blame her for being bothered; the stranger had pulled her away from a job interview and a busy day back at work.
“What can I help you with?” Her tone was polite, but with an edge of warning to it. This woman had better not waste her time.
“Denise Donovan?” the stranger asked.
“Yes, that’s me.”
The stranger reached into her satchel and withdrew a large envelope, which she handed to the very confused restaurant owner. “You’ve been served.”
Denise rubbed her temple with her fingers and groaned. She had joined Moira at her table to go over the papers, and it didn’t look good.
“I hope my lawyer calls me back soon,” she said. “I need to figure out what to do.”
“You have all sorts of disclaimers,” Moira pointed out. “Your menu has an allergen warning on it. Your chef warned Brody in person that if he had a severe allergy he might not want to eat here. I don’t see how his wife can sue you and expect to get anything.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this works.” Her friend gave a frustrated sigh. “Why do these people have it out for me? First, Brenda accuses me of murder, and now that I’ve been cleared in the crimin
al case, his wife’s turning to a civil suit to try to wreck me. I’ve never even met the woman before in my life.”
“I don’t know if it’s personal,” Moira said. “It may just be that she’s hurting and is trying to find justice in her own way.”
“I already feel bad enough knowing that it was my kitchen that killed the guy, even if it was a complete accident. Maybe I should just give her the money and be done with it.”
A Side of Murder: Book 18 in The Darling Deli Series Page 4