By the end of the soup course, I was getting desperate. And Jason's dampened expression suggested the date wasn't going the way he'd hoped either.
"It's a good thing we got this in now," he said as our server set a plate of the thickest steak I'd ever seen covered in thick, creamy gravy. "I may be leaving the country for a bit soon. Meeting with prospective suppliers in Asia."
That piqued my interest. "Do you travel a lot for work?"
"Almost never." Jason poured each of us another glass of wine as he spoke. "Charlie used business trips as his own personal excuse to party. Now the scouting position's vacant, and I happen to know the owner."
I glanced down at my plate, grilled fish on a bed of noodles with a lemony side salad. It didn't look good compared to a steak. Fortunately, it tasted better than it looked.
"What if Simon decides to do the scouting himself?" I asked. "If he trusts you that much, wouldn't he be just as willing to leave you to run things?"
Jason snorted. “It won't play out that way. Simon’s not going anywhere without my sister for a while after the wedding. He worships her, and Caroline hates to travel. Those two won't be traveling any time soon.”
“That's probably for the best. I mean, Simon's got to be a suspect in Charlie’s… you know…” I glanced over my shoulder at the table next to us. "I don't suppose it would look good if he left town."
Jason paused with the steak-loaded fork halfway between the plate and his mouth. "What makes you think Simon's a suspect?"
I shrugged. "It's always the business partner or the romantic partner, isn't it? And unless you knew something about Charlie that I don't, he didn't have the latter."
"Pfft. I wouldn't call what Charlie did romance." Jason shoved the steak into his mouth. "Doubt if he even remembered their names. He barely remembered to come in to the office the next day."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's interesting. Simon didn't strike me as the type to be okay with that. He and Caroline just seem too put together.”
"If by that you mean anal retentive, yes." Jason chased his bitter words with a mouthful of wine. "And the older they get the worse they get."
I looked back to my plate, too stunned for a minute to respond. What kind of man badmouthed his boss and family on a first date? Granny always said family business had no business being outside the family. The older I got, the more I agreed with her.
"Guess that's the thing about life," I said. "You think you have time, and mostly you’re right. Until one day you aren't."
“To Charlie. The first to every party and the last to leave." Jason raised his glass, drained it, and reached for the bottle to pour another. It was empty. "He died the way he lived. Nursing a hangover from a night of free booze and drugs from a developer looking to part him and the Porter family money.”
I blinked in surprise at the name. “You can’t be serious.”
He nodded and sliced another bite-sized morsel from his steak. "As a heart attack. Charlie was seriously slipping. Never came into work sober. And the screaming matches he and Simon had those last few weeks."
That wasn’t what I meant, but the information was useful all the same. I took a sip of wine to steady my nerves and think through what Jason had told me so far. Most of it matched with Caroline's memories of Charlie. Except for one glaring detail.
"How did Charlie know Nicholas Lloyd?" I asked.
Jason shrugged. "Like I said, he wanted Charlie’s money for some investment. A boutique resort, I think."
"Yeah, I've heard his pitch."
"So have I. Gotta say, I wasn't impressed. But then all it took to impress Charlie was a little bit of flattery and half of a good idea. Execution plan optional."
Except Charlie didn't know that Nicholas Lloyd was pitching a project he didn't have a hope of getting off the ground. Unless the Paradise somehow lost all of its contracts, forcing Danielle and Andrew to sell.
Putting a body on their property was one way to skin that cat.
"Maybe the two of them couldn't come to terms," I said. "Yesterday, I would have said Nicholas Lloyd didn't have it in him, but now I'm not so sure."
How much of the Porter family money could be left with the life Charlie had lived? If Nicholas had mentioned the property he had in mind, Charlie would have known it wasn't for sale the second he arrived at the cake tasting. Maybe he wasn’t looking for me at all that day. Maybe he was calling Nicholas.
I had the right idea, but I had the wrong business partner.
"He doesn't have it in him," Jason said. "Nick's new to the Keys, but I know his type."
"Smarmy used car salesman?"
He chuckled. "Close. Lloyd is desperate. And any investor worth his salt will tell you never throw money at someone with nothing to lose. It makes them sloppy."
I sat back in my chair, shoulders slumping as my new theory deflated. "So you don't think Charlie really planned to make a deal with him at all?"
"Nope, and Nick knows it. That's why he’s desperate." Jason waved to our server, grabbed the empty bottle from the table, and wagged it gently to ask for another. "He'll stick around for a few months and maybe try something out of the box to fast track his idea, but it's done. For him, the Keys is a bust."
I glanced down at my plate, suddenly without an appetite. Over the course of a single night, I had gone from one suspect to two—and then to none.
Jason Delany didn’t even seem to notice. He split a baby carrot in half with his knife and speared one end with a fork.
"Mark my words," he said, brandishing the impaled vegetable at me. "Someone got sick of Charlie’s crap and spiked his stash. Not saying I know who, but I didn’t take anything to Charlie the night before the cake tasting. Caroline and I were having dinner with our parents, where Simon’s absence was the primary topic of conversation."
My heart leaped into my throat. Was Jason saying what I thought he was?
"If that's true, why haven't you told Detective Reid?" I asked.
"What makes you think I haven't?"
"Call it instinct." I wasn't about to tell Jason Delany I was on the suspect list.
"I don't need a hotshot detective or anyone else nosing through my business," he said. "Too much risk to take on in the name of getting justice for Charlie Porter."
"Even if it means the wrong person gets in trouble for it?"
The server came to the table with our uncorked bottle of rosso. She poured a glass for Jason then, seeing my glass was mostly untouched, set it on the table and walked away.
When she was out of earshot, Jason continued. "More likely nobody goes down for it at all. Happens all the time."
I knew he was right, but something about the dismissive way Jason said it made my stomach roil. We were talking about his business partners! One of them was his soon-to-be brother-in-law. And me? I was just a woman he barely knew. One he'd probably hoped to get lucky with sooner or later. Why tell me all these things?
There was only one answer that made sense. Nobody would believe any of this coming from me. At best, it was hearsay. At worst, the ravings of a bitter freelancer who'd lost her meal ticket. I didn’t matter, and Jason knew it.
I slid back from the table and climbed to my feet. "Thank you for dinner, but I just remembered that I neglected to feed my cat."
Jason didn’t try to stop me as I stormed away. I think he knew as well as I did that this first date was a bust.
Chapter Eighteen
Granny and Coral were asleep by the time I got home. But there was too much heat in my blood for me to even attempt a quick snooze.
And I had been so busy searching for an opening with Jason and then pumping him for information, I hadn't eaten more than a few bites of my meal. I was starving.
After raiding the fridge, I set up on Granny’s couch and turned on bad infomercials to distract me. Whoever's idea it was to make Saturday night television a desert wasteland should lose their job.
Three infomercials, a heaping helping of Granny's rice and be
ans, and two beers later, my body and eyes felt heavy, but my mind still wouldn't slow down enough for me to sleep. Jason Delany had given me too much to think about.
Everyone agreed Charlie was the fly in their otherwise clear ointment. But it had taken Charlie assaulting his fiancé for Simon Lambert to muster a physical response. It had been explosive, yes, and reckless for its many witnesses. That didn't mean Simon had it in him to murder anyone, much less a man he'd known and worked with for years.
I fell asleep sometime after midnight and woke up to the smell of strong coffee and frying bacon.
"Bless you, Granny," I mumbled as I pushed myself to a sitting position. Coral looked up at me from her perch on the armrest. Never one to disappoint a fuzzy face, I reached down and rubbed between her ears. "And good morning to you, Coco."
Granny came into the living room with a steaming mug of coffee, setting it on the side table to my left. "Breakfast should be ready soon. Figured you came in late last night. Is that good news?"
I didn’t have to wonder whether Granny meant good news about the case or good news about my date. Murder or not, Margaret Fisher wanted her grandgirls settled.
"Just the opposite," I said, grabbing the coffee mug and clutching it between my hands. "I didn't think it was possible to strike out on a date I didn’t expect anything from, but somehow I managed it."
"He didn't tell you anything?" Granny's brow furrowed.
"Nothing of use to us," I said. "Just a wasted night and a reminder of why I hate dating."
Granny didn’t hide her disappointment. I hid my guilt with a scalding sip of coffee that made my eyes water.
"Well, it’s not all bad. At least you got to try Bastian’s."
Silver lining found, Granny wandered back into the kitchen to finish breakfast.
After a leisurely breakfast with my grandmother and a few minutes of snuggles with Coral, I hopped into my car and drove to Key West.
Danielle gave me two days off a week, one that floated based on what she needed me to do and the other locked to Sundays. I tended to spend my floating off day on the ground of the Paradise, but my Sundays were reserved for garage sales. I'd developed a habit of prowling them during my years in Seattle. Antique artwork made for great social media posts, and though I'd never been lucky enough to find a forgotten masterpiece, sometimes the things I found sold well. Vintage cameras always sold well, and garage sales were always delighted to be rid of them.
Since it had been a couple of days since my last coffee fix, I stopped at the coffee shop near Jason and Simon's office. There was almost no chance of either of them popping into the office on a Sunday afternoon. For the first time in nearly two weeks, I put the case out of my mind. Instead, I focused on searching for sales and making a map to hit the ones I thought would yield the best results.
The first sale was a bust. Judging by the overstock of old tapes and memorabilia, the seller was a sports fanatic. He probably would have done better giving the whole thing to a collector, but from the way his eyes glinted when I walked up to his table, I suspected he liked the thrill of the sale.
The second garage sale was more promising. The seller had a vintage instant camera with a solid black body and no visible damage. But she wanted twenty dollars for it. In my experience, they never sold for more than twenty-five dollars. I was tempted to buy it anyway. Something about the nostalgia of the instant photos always spoke to me. The washed-out colors made even shots captured seconds before seem ripped out of time.
But my bedroom at Granny’s was already in desperate need of a purge. So I put the instant camera back and drove to the third garage sale. The last one on my list, a single floor mid-century house painted a cheery salmon color.
Three tables stretched across the front lawn, each jam-packed with a hodgepodge of household items. The usual shirts, DVDs, and books took up the far left table. Appliances, electronics, and memorabilia were on the far right table. But the center table held the real treasure trove. There were two milk crates of records, an assortment of old-fashioned heavy tools, and pristine silverware.
Who would want to part with all of this? Whoever it was, they hadn’t advertised well. It was late in the afternoon, but only a few people were in the front yard scanning the tables. And by the look of things, the host hadn't made many sales.
As if to answer my question, Paige Hawkins came out of the salmon-colored house. She glanced at me, did a double-take, and smiled.
"Don't tell me… Caroline changed her mind about the lemon chiffon cupcakes and she sent you to break the news to me."
I laughed. "If that happened, I'd be breaking the news to her that T-minus 8 days until the big day is way too late to make changes like that. I'm just here for the bargain hunting."
"Well, feast your eyes and open your wallet," Paige said, sweeping her arm toward the fully loaded tables. "Make me an offer. Any offer will do."
My mouth fell open in surprise. "People never mean that."
"Oh, I do. Think of me as a highly motivated seller. The truck’s already gone. I'm unloading this mess as soon as I can."
"Wow! That's… quite a lot to unload." Too much, in fact. If I didn't know better, I would say Paige had decided to pull up stakes.
"The house is going too. I called a realtor already." Paige said.
"You're moving?" Just when we luck into a good baker, she leaves. Smells like the ones in Paige’s bakery didn’t come along every day. Danielle would probably hate to lose that connection.
"As soon as we finish the Delany-Lambert wedding. My husband left me recently. Well, I caught him having an affair, and his response was to take off. With everything else going on, I want to be closer to my family." Paige shifted her shoulders a little and rubbed her hand along her belly. With her loose shirt, I couldn't quite see if her baby bump had come out.
"That sounds like a lot to deal with," I said, feeling a pang of guilt for thinking about my sister’s business instead of the woman in front of me. "Is there no chance of your ex being involved?"
A strange expression crossed Paige's face. It wasn't quite a scowl, and it wasn't quite a frown, but somehow it got across disgust perfectly.
"No, the father won’t be in the picture," she said. Then the expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by her usual warm smile. "Anyway, there’s still a shocking amount of inventory. If you tell me what you're hunting for, I may be able to save you some time."
I could take a hint. "Frames, art, and cameras. And I notice you've got a lot of tools. If you have any for camera equipment, that would be amazing."
"Hmm, nothing for cameras that I can think of," Paige said, tapping her chin. "Those were my ex's tools. He ran off so fast he left them behind. Carl's into smithing, not so much photography."
"Everyone needs a hobby." Though I had to admit, that was stranger than most I'd heard.
"I have an old painting in the house. It's not technically for sale, but if I don't have to haul it to Texas, I'd just as soon not."
Paige gestured for me to follow her into the house. She didn’t seem too worried about people taking her merchandise.
In contrast to the rosy exterior, the inside of Paige’s house was painted a stark white with cool beige tile laid throughout. All of the furniture was still in place, but everywhere I looked there was a layer of dust broken by a conspicuous clean spot. Not even the photographs had been spared, judging by the clean squares on the walls.
Only one photo had survived, a framed portrait of Paige in her wedding dress next to her husband. Her ex-husband.
Paige leaned on the couch and slipped her arm between the back and the wall. When she pulled back, she clutched a landscape painting of a mountain scene in her hand.
"Does this look like something you'd be interested in?" she asked, passing the art to me. "I don't know who painted it, but I think it's an oil painting."
I didn't know as much about art history as I should have, but the serene composition of the mountain and the
evergreens at its base filled me with calm. It was perfect for the second-floor sitting room at the Paradise. The greens and grays would play well with Danielle’s beloved deep blue.
"It’s gorgeous. Are you sure you don't want to keep it?"
"No way. Carl and I bought it when we bought the house. I was planning on leaving it for the new owners."
"How much?" I asked.
Paige smiled. "Make me an offer."
I pulled forty dollars out of my wallet and passed it to Paige. It wasn't until that moment I realized I'd forgotten to stop at the bank for cash. The painting would be my only find for the weekend.
Paige walked with me back into the yard. The same handful of people were still combing over her tables, but none of them had anything in their hands.
"Looks like you'll have to run another weekend," I said. "Maybe the Sunday after the wedding?"
"Maybe. Or maybe I'll just take it all to a thrift shop and make it their problem." Paige sighed and raked her fingers through her cinnamon-colored hair. "I'm really over the whole thing."
I couldn't imagine what it must have been like to be in Paige's shoes. I felt an urge to touch her hand or shoulder, anything to let her know I understood a tiny fraction of what she must have been going through. But the truth was I didn't. Paige and I weren't friends. We were barely co-workers. After Caroline and Simon's wedding, we'd bury our bad memories of the whole thing in our own separate corners.
Halfway to the car, Paige paused. She looked at me, her eyes hardening for a second before they filled with tears.
"You were right," she said.
"I was? When?"
"When you said Charlie was out of line. And I know I wasn't the only person he hurt." Paige took a shaky breath. "But he can’t hurt any of us now."
Before I could respond, Paige waved goodbye and strode back over to her sales tables. I didn’t know what to make of the statement, so I kept walking toward my car.
Cake Tastings and Killers Page 10