by Gale Deitch
With no other choice, I spun around and flung myself onto the hood of my Honda, my purse flying out of my hand just as the speeding vehicle whooshed by me, causing a gust of wind to whip my hair into my face.
I lay flat, my heart pounding against the hood of my car, the warmth from the engine a welcome relief. After a few moments, I slid down to my feet and bent to pick up the flattened remains of my purse and its contents. Then I staggered on wobbly legs across the street to May’s house and let myself in.
“May,” I called and waited a moment. “May.” Of course, I realized, she couldn’t hear me with the sedatives she’d been taking at night to help her sleep.
My hands shook as I laid my expensive Italian handbag on the kitchen table, its coral leather now blackened by tread marks. The zipper, damaged beyond repair, would only open a third of the way. So I stuck my hand in and rooted around until I found what I was looking for. My cell phone was smashed like a garlic clove flattened under the blade of my Santoku knife. I’d have to use May’s house phone.
I called Daniel’s house, but there was no answer. Then I dialed his mobile number.
“Goldman here.” He wouldn’t have recognized May’s phone number so he probably expected it to be a business call. The abruptness in his voice triggered a crack in my shell and everything spilled out.
“Daniel,” I sobbed into the phone. “Someone tried to run me down.”
“Are you okay? Where are you?”
I peered down at my shattered cellphone and trampled purse. “I-I guess so. I’m at May’s house.”
“Where’s Dad?” Daniel asked.
The doorbell startled me. “Trudie, it’s Stu. Open up.”
“He’s here,” I said to Daniel. “Please, come soon.”
When I opened the door, I took one look at Stu and collapsed into his arms. I was trembling and could barely speak as I tried to tell him what happened. He walked me to the sofa and we sat down together, his arm wrapped protectively around me. I rested my head against his shoulder.
“Trudie, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get to you. Couldn’t get around the corner. Some joker was blocking my way and wouldn’t move his car.” Stu squeezed me tighter. “I had to park on another street and jog back.”
I looked up at him. “Some joker, huh? The same one who was honking for you to move your car earlier?”
“The same one. And after seeing what happened to you, I’m sure this guy was doing it on purpose to keep me away from you.”
I bolted up. “To keep you away from me? Why?”
Stu shook his head. “I don’t know, Trudie. I just don’t know. But once I’d parked my car around the corner, he made a U-turn and headed back down this street. I had no idea he was after you—or that you had gotten out of the car.”
I dipped my head. “I’m sorry. I should have listened and waited for you.”
Daniel arrived with lights and sirens blaring and was out of his car and pounding on the door just as I opened it. He swept me into his arms and held me tight against his body then lifted my chin. “Are you okay, baby?”
The expression of concern on his face broke the brave façade I’d attempted. I shook my head and began to sob, unable to speak. Daniel walked me back to the sofa and pulled me onto his lap. I leaned into him, and he rocked me until I stopped crying while Stu filled him in about my near death experience.
“What’s going on?” May asked, descending the stairs to the living room, a silk, emerald green robe belted around her slim waist. She squinted into the light.
I attempted to squeak out an answer then shook my head and peered up at Daniel.
“Seems like a vehicle came a little too close for comfort,” Daniel said to May as he ran his fingers through my hair, something he knew I loved.
May put her hand to her forehead and asked, “Shuga, were you in a car accident?”
I shook my head and turned to Daniel again.
“Nope,” he said. “No car. Just Trudie.”
May moved her hand down to cover her mouth. “Someone almost hit you with their car? Oh, Trudie. Are you all right?” She hurried over and knelt on the floor in front of me, shaking her head back and forth. “It’s all my fault, shuga. All my fault. I never should have involved you in this.”
But now I was involved, and I didn’t know who wanted to kill me or why. And if I didn’t know the answer to these questions, what would keep them from trying again?
Chapter Twelve
Daniel posted a couple of cops outside the house and stayed with me at May’s. He held me through the night, and the few times I jolted awake, he soothed me back to sleep. I’d missed the smell of him, the warmth of his body, the sound of his even breaths, and occasional snores, as he slept.
In the morning, Daniel drove me to A Fine Fix where I met Zach to prep for the bridal shower. When we arrived, Daniel nodded to a cop sitting in a police cruiser that had been stationed in the parking lot.
“I want somebody with you at all times, Trudie. You’ll go with Zach to your catering job and Dad will pick you up for the memorial service. I have a detail following in an unmarked car, and an officer will keep an eye on your business. Are you going to be all right today?”
“Go to work already. I’m fine,” I said with a bravado I didn’t really feel, my stomach churning like a coffee grinder. I kissed Daniel goodbye through his open car window. “Zach and I have an event to cater, so go. I’ll see you this afternoon at the memorial service.”
Zach had just arrived and waved as Daniel pulled out of the lot. “Why did he drive you to work? Problem with your car?”
I avoided Zach’s eyes. “I—had an incident last night.”
“What kind of incident?” He stood looking at me, waiting for an answer. “Trudie.”
“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’ve got to get to work, Zach. So much to do.”
Zach put his hands on my shoulders. “Trudie, look at me and tell me what happened. We’re not going inside until you tell me.”
I raised my head and glared into his eyes, daring him to say, “I told you so.”
“Someone tried to run me down when I was crossing the street to May’s house. But as you can see, I am absolutely fine. So let’s get to work. Okay?”
He stared back, his mouth open, and shook his head. “Not okay. This is exactly what I was afraid of. You’re poking around in places you shouldn’t, and somebody is not happy about it. You need to tell May she’ll have to get someone else to do her dirty work.”
Seeing the concern in Zach’s face, I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. “I know you’re right. With the memorial service this afternoon, I’m hoping May will be back to work tomorrow, and I’ll be relieved of my duties.”
“And if she isn’t back at the restaurant tomorrow?” His angry eyes pierced through mine.
My voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll tell her I’m done with it. May will just have to do without me and let Gus manage Maybelline’s.”
“Okay then. Let’s go inside and get to work,” Zach said with an abrupt nod.
In two hours, we had the quiches filled and baked, the salad and dressings prepared, and the van loaded with everything we needed for the job. Then we headed to the art studio in Bethesda where the event was to take place. Occasionally, I peered through the side-view mirror to see if I could spot an unmarked car following us, and every time I thought I’d identified the right vehicle, it would turn off in another direction.
The bride and her guests loved our food and gushed over the cupcakes we’d prepared to match the décor. Several of the guests, women in their twenties, flirted with Zach--tall, dark and, as the only man in sight, somewhat attractive--as he served them Mimosas in his black shirt and purple tie. A boon to his ego. Toward the end of the shower, a few requested business cards, which I always kept handy in my apron. Today, I’d worn a black short-sleeved dress for the memorial service, protected by my purple apron with A Fine Fix embroidered in orange across the breast pocket.
At the appointed time, Stu arrived to drive me downtown, and I hugged Zach goodbye as we congratulated each other on another successful event. Daniel had handed down the edict that under no circumstances was I to drive anywhere by myself. And, to be truthful, I felt much more at ease on the road in Stu’s car.
We arrived at Maybelline’s at two forty-five. A sign posted on the door announced that the restaurant was closed for a private event. Inside, a memorial table had been set up, draped with a white cloth and adorned with floral arrangements, lit votive candles and photos of Micah. In the center of the table sat a gold and green marbled urn, which I assumed contained his ashes.
Mingling in the corner were four musicians, dressed in black suits and top hats, their instruments--a tuba, trumpet, saxophone and drums--leaning against the wall.
Several business owners from the neighborhood had already arrived and, one by one, greeted May warmly and spoke to her in hushed tones. I recognized a few of her food truck friends, who, several weeks before, had helped restore my business after it had been ransacked. Standing in another small group was Mr. Benson from the novelty store next door who’d caused a scene the night Micah was murdered.
Gina and Katie brought around trays of mini muffaletta sandwiches and pralines, while a bartender circled the room with a tray of mint juleps and peach iced tea.
I was surprised to see May’s lawyer, Alan Bernstein, at the service since he didn’t know Micah. I supposed he was there to support May. When he spotted me, he flashed that huge welcoming smile and crossed the room to me, taking both my hands in his.
“Trudie, how are things going managing the restaurant for May?” As usual, Alan was tastefully dressed in a charcoal gray suit and gray silk tie.
“Well, if I ever express a desire to own a restaurant, shoot me first.”
“That bad, huh?” His brows furrowed with concern.
“It’s not the workings of the restaurant so much as the staff and all their complex personalities and emotions. I was trained to be a chef, not a psychiatrist.”
Alan laughed. “Well, hopefully it won’t be too much longer. May seems ready to get back to work.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Is this a work visit today or what?”
“Just paying my respects to my client. I try not to work on Sundays, take a little time for me, get myself a decent meal somewhere.”
That’s all he had to say. “Listen, Alan. My mom makes the best Sunday dinners you could ask for. Why don’t you come over?”
“No, I couldn’t impose at the last minute like this.”
“Are you kidding? Mom makes enough to feed everyone at this memorial service. I guarantee she would love to meet you. Please come.”
“Well, if you think it’s okay. Sure.” He gave me that big smile again.
“Wonderful. I’ll see you at six o’clock. Here’s the address.”
As guests trickled in, I wondered if Daniel would arrive in time for the service. He finally made it at three fifteen, but with Sergeant Sherrie Flowers by his side. I wondered what she was doing here. She wore a navy skirt suit that hugged her body to accentuate her figure. When Daniel spotted me, he headed my way, and noticing Alan, gave me a peck on the lips and stood protectively by my side. Sherrie shot a dark glance in our direction and shook her head. I wasn’t sure whether she was annoyed that Daniel had left her standing by herself or by the fact that she couldn’t understand what he saw in me, something she had blatantly told me during my interrogation. Just to set the record straight, I clutched his arm with both hands and leaned against him, sending my own signal right back to Sergeant Flowers.
Surveying the room to see who else had come, I was surprised to see the Albino man, LeBlanc, who’d been harassing May and Micah and Gus. He wore a shiny black and white pin-striped suit and a black fedora trimmed with a white band. I saw him approach May, taking off his hat and holding it to his chest. He held out his hand to her, but she did not take it. I could hear only the low tones of his voice, but not the words he was saying to her. He must have been extending his condolences, because May gave him a terse nod and then turned away.
I nudged Stu and nodded toward the man. “That’s him,” I mouthed.
Stu left my side and spoke to various guests as he worked his way toward the man. I noticed Sergeant Flowers also making her way around the room, talking to people. Even Daniel must have seen the opportunity and, giving my hand a quick squeeze, told me he’d be back. It seemed a bit tacky conducting an investigation during a memorial service, but hadn’t I been the one to suggest just that to Stu?
Standing alone, I felt a tingle creep up my spine and surveyed the room, wondering if the driver of that car last night was here watching me now. I felt a tap on my shoulder and jumped with a shriek.
“Oh, I’m sorry to have startled you.” A petite woman about my age with a pixie haircut and bright tortoise shell-colored eyes stood beside me, smiling. “You’re Trudie Fine, aren’t you?” she asked, holding up my business card.
“Yes.” I nodded, not sure how much to say to this stranger.
She pointed across the room. “Stu Goldman told me who you were. You left this card for me last night at my coffee shop.” She held out her hand. Her handshake was firm and friendly. “Jennifer Hall.”
“Oh, yes. So glad to meet you. Your lemon meringue pie was outstanding. I’d love to taste more, if I could. We’re hoping to expand our repertoire of breads and desserts. Can I come by sometime?”
“Of course. Tomorrow, if you’d like. Just tell them who you are and come back into the kitchen. We’ll have some coffee, do a tasting, and we’ll talk.” Her smile was warm and infectious, and I felt as if I’d known this woman for years. Maybe it was that natural connection between those in the culinary field, the similar background, the training and hard work it takes to make a name for yourself, but especially that shared love of cooking.
The band began a somber jazz rendition which made it impossible for us to continue our conversation, what with the blaring trumpet, the oompah-pahs of the tuba and the pounding drums and clashing cymbals. As they played, Gus came out from the kitchen and stood next to Gina, and May took her place in front of the memorial table. Her eyes were moist, and she smiled warmly as she surveyed the room full of guests. She held up her hand to the band, and the room became silent.
“Thank y’all for comin’ this afternoon to say goodbye to Micah. I know most of you came on my account and not because you were particularly fond of my baby brotha’.” She laughed. “In fact, for many of you, I know he was a big pain in the you-know-what. Yes, sometimes Micah was loud and brash and in-your-face. Wasn’t he?” she asked scanning the room.
A few people chuckled.
I glanced at Sergeant Flowers to see her reaction to May’s assessment of her brother. Was May incriminating herself with these words?
“Uh-huh,” May said, nodding. “But there were a few of you who got to know Micah and what he was really like deep down.” She turned to Katie, whose eyes were red-rimmed. “My brotha’ would give you the shirt off his back if he knew you were cold. He would give you everything on his plate if he knew you were hungry. He was a gentle boy who loved people and only wanted the best for them. He jus’ went about it the wrong way most of the time. And maybe that’s what got him into trouble the other night.” May looked from one person to the next and shook her head. “We jus’ don’ know, do we?”
She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and stepped back.
Everyone looked around to see who would speak next. Katie stepped forward. “Yes, I’m one of those people who did get to know him.” She glanced at May and nodded. “Micah was someone who really did want the best for people. He knew he had flaws, knew he’d failed at so many things in life, and desperately wanted to change his life. And May gave him that chance by asking him to come help out in the restaurant, learn the business and work his way up.”
Katie glanced in the direction of Gus and Gina. “Not everyone
was pleased about that. He didn’t feel real welcome the first time he came last spring, got discouraged and went home. But when May convinced him to come back, this time he eased right into it and began to feel good about himself.”
Katie’s outstretched hands were pleading for understanding as she looked from one person to the next. “Don’t you see, his life was turning around—only to be cut short.” She began to cry, her shoulders shaking with each ragged breath. May went to her, put her arm around Katie’s shoulders and walked her out of the limelight.
As we waited for someone else to speak, the long pause became awkward. So I stepped forward without any idea what I was going to say. I glanced from person to person, Daniel and Stu smiling with encouragement and May nodding for me to begin. But it was the smirk on the face of she-cop Sherrie that finally spurred me to speak.
“May and I go way back,” I said, nodding. “All the way back to culinary school. Micah used to come once in a while to visit her. One time when he was there—oh, I guess he was about fourteen at the time-- May had been complaining that her dorm room depressed her because of the graying walls that no amount of posters seemed to brighten up. After class that day, I walked with May back to her room. Well, as we opened the door, there was this gosh-awful smell and we practically needed sunglasses to walk into the room. While she was out, he had painted the room the brightest neon yellow we’d ever seen, and he’d used oil-based paint that looked as if it would never dry. May took one look at him, standing there with a paint brush in his hand and yelled, ‘Micah, what did you do?’ He just stood there beaming at her and said, ‘Do you like it, Sis? Now you don’t have to be depressed anymore.’”