by Nic Saint
She grimaced. “I take it he wasn’t your favorite person in the world?”
“Not really. In fact it’s safe to say Marissa and I kinda hated the guy.”
At least she wasn’t holding back, Odelia thought. “And why was that?”
Aissa led her through the kitchen and into the restaurant, where they took a seat at a table near the window. The place was still empty, as preparations for lunch were yet to begin. “Well, I actually liked the guy at first. When I heard he took the Writer’s Lodge, Marissa and I were excited. We’d both been reading him for years. I mean, he wrote some great books.”
“I know. I’ve read some of his stuff. The guy could write a mean thriller.”
“The operative word is mean,” said Aissa, cocking an eyebrow.
“Meaning?”
“He had a real mean streak. It’s not something I was aware of at the time, and you certainly wouldn’t have known from his books, but Paulo Frey was a homophobe. That guy simply hated gays with a vengeance. When he discovered me and Marissa were an item, he blew a gasket. Made a scene right here in the middle of the restaurant, the place full of diners. Said we were a disgrace to humankind, and that he’d never set foot in here again, and invited everyone else to follow his example and walk out as well.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. It was horrible. For a moment we both feared that everyone would do as he said, but luckily nobody seemed to care that their food was being prepared by two women who happened to be in love. So when he saw that his little temper tantrum was met with eye rolls and shrugs, he stomped out, vowing to destroy us and all of our kind before he was through.”
“A real hater, huh? Who would have thought?”
“It blew us away. How such a vile man could write such great books…”
“So what happened then?”
She waved her hand. “He started spreading rumors around town that our food was poisoned, and that we were the worst cooks in the world. He even called the Food Safety and Inspection people on us. Twice. Luckily we run a clean ship around here, and they didn’t shut us down.”
“I wonder why I never heard about this?”
“Probably because none of the locals bought his crap. He was trying to rile up the tourist crowd, and doing a damn good job, for our business effectively started to slow down. Which is when we talked to your uncle.”
“And he put a stop to the nonsense.”
“That wonderful man drove straight up to the Writer’s Lodge and told Frey that if he ever pulled a stunt like that again he’d personally drive him out of town.”
“Tarred and feathered?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” laughed Aissa. “I don’t know what else he said, but it did the trick. The rumors stopped, and the customers returned.”
“Except Paulo Frey.”
“He wouldn’t have been welcome here anyway. Not after what he put us through. That man is a vile monster. Or at least he was,” she said, sobered when she remembered the reason for this interview.
“I can understand how you felt that way,” said Odelia, jotting down notes.
“And I wasn’t the only one either.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard later that he did the same thing to Gabby Cleret.”
“The actress?”
Aissa nodded. “Drove her to a nervous breakdown.”
Before Odelia could get into this, suddenly a shadow loomed over them.
“Aissa Spring?” the new arrival asked. And when she looked up, Odelia couldn’t help but notice that the newcomer was giving her a nasty look.
“That’s me,” said Aissa. “And you are?”
“Detective Chase Kingsley,” Chase said, producing a shiny new badge. “Hampton Cove Police. Can I have a word? When you’re quite finished with Miss Poole, that is.” At this, he gave Odelia another of his trademark scowls.
Aissa grinned. “My sordid past is finally catching up with me, huh?”
Odelia laughed. “Don’t worry, hon. Your sordid past is safe with me.” She didn’t know why she said that, but she suddenly felt like protecting Aissa against this overbearing policeman. As he apparently had a history of violence against female suspects, she felt she needed to stay put and make sure nothing happened. So she returned Chase’s scowl and added some heat. “It’s not because Aissa had a dispute with Frey that she’s automatically guilty, Detective.”
“Oh, I see you’ve decided to become a homicide detective now,” he said, gritting his teeth. He was still towering over them, blocking out the sun.
She got up and walked up to the man. “I’m simply doing my job as a reporter,” she said, going toe-to-toe with him. But since he had at least a foot on her, she had to crane her neck, which wasn’t helping. And then there was the fact that he was wearing a very powerful cologne that assaulted her senses. Only now did she become aware of his overpowering masculinity.
Why hadn’t she noticed this in Uncle Alec’s office? Probably because she hadn’t been quite this close to him. He was staring down at her, his icy blue eyes boring into hers, his granite face implacable, his battering ram of a chin even more impressive up close and personal. Detective Kingsley was a bad, bad man, and she owed it to Hampton Cove to expose him, but he was also a very attractive man, and she now experienced the full effect of his presence.
“This is a murder investigation, Miss Poole,” he growled. “And you’d be well advised not to insert yourself into the investigation. You might get hurt.”
“Is that a threat, Detective Kingsley?”
“A fair warning, Miss Poole. Murder investigations tend to get sticky.”
“I’m a reporter, Detective. It’s my job to report on any crime that takes place in my town. I’m sure my uncle explained all this to you.”
“He did, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I agree with him,” he grunted.
“Well, you’d better get used to it.” She would have added he wasn’t going to be in town long enough to learn all the ins and outs of the way they did things around here, but bit her tongue. The story of Detective Kingsley’s wrongdoings was one she’d crack once Frey’s murderer had been caught.
While this battle of wills took place, Aissa had sat motionless. Now she noisily cleared her throat. “Did you have a question for me, Detective?”
Chase finally dragged his eyes away from Odelia’s and nodded. “I did. Where were you on the night of September sixteen last year, Miss Spring?”
This surprised Odelia. “Have you determined the time of death?”
Chase’s jaw worked as he studiously chose to ignore her. “I realize it’s been a long time, but try to throw your mind back. It’s important. I’m sure Miss Poole told you all about the murder of Mr. Frey by now, and the fact that we need to interview anyone who’s ever been at odds with the victim.”
“Yes, she did,” said Aissa, with a quick look at Odelia.
From her part, Odelia was standing her ground, her arms folded across her chest. Even though it was clear Chase wanted her to leave, she refused to.
“You probably heard about our little feud?” asked Aissa sheepishly.
“I did,” confirmed Chase. “Chief Alec told me how you pressed charges against Paulo Frey after he threatened to close down your restaurant and made a real stink about the fact that you and Miss Marissa are… an item.”
“I was just telling Odelia what a terrible ordeal the whole thing was, and how we were worried that Frey might succeed in closing us down. Luckily Chief Alec stepped into the breach and smoothed things over. After that, Frey gave No Spring Chicks a wide berth every time he came into town.”
“How did you determine the time of death?” Odelia insisted. She’d already scribbled down the date in her little notebook: September sixteen.
But Chase merely stared at Aissa, who realized she still hadn’t answered the cop’s question. “Oh, right,” she said, quickly getting up and hurrying over to the counter. She picked up a large ledger and sta
rted flipping through it until she reached the chosen date. “The sixteenth…” she muttered, letting her finger slide down the items on the page. “Oh. Of course. We hosted the mayor’s wife’s birthday bash that night, so we were pretty busy.”
Odelia saw that her words had quite an impact on Chase. It was as if he stood frozen. Finally, he asked huskily, “The mayor’s wife? You mean…”
“Francine. Mayor Turner’s wife? She’s a vegan, so she’s in here all the time.”
Once again, her words had a powerful effect on the policeman. His face visibly relaxed, and a small smile indicated her words met his approval. “The mayor of Hampton Cove,” he said, nodding. “Not the mayor of New York.”
“Oh, no,” Aissa laughed. “I don’t think we’ve ever seen the mayor of New York here, or in Hampton Cove. He’s more an Amagansett kind of guy. I hear he’s got quite a place out there, with a private helipad for his chopper.”
“Yes, he does,” Chase confirmed, his lips once again a grim line.
Odelia wondered what the story with him and the mayor was, and made a quick mental note to further look into the matter.
“So if I talk to Francine Turner, she’ll be able to confirm that you were here all evening on September the sixteenth?” Chase asked now.
“I’m sure she would,” said Aissa. “She’s one of our best customers and I like to be here when something big like that goes down.” She smiled. “Especially after what happened with Frey we were afraid we might lose the restaurant, so we made sure we worked like beavers, both Marissa and I.”
“Marissa was also here?”
“Yes, we were both here, I’m sure of it,” she said. “It was a big thing, and we brought the birthday cake in together. It was a great night. I remember telling Francine how grateful we were for her support and the mayor’s and the entire Hampton Cove community.” She gave Chase a wink. “This is a great little town, Detective Kingsley. One that the Paulo Freys of this world can’t destroy, no matter how hard they try. It’s a lesson I learned last year.”
He nodded curtly, and Odelia thought Aissa’s words had touched a chord, for he gave her one of his rare smiles. “Thank you, Miss Spring.”
“It’s Aissa. And I hope to welcome you in our restaurant one of these nights, Detective.”
“Chase, please, and I most certainly will. I can’t wait to try your cuisine.”
He abruptly turned and strode out, clearly wanting to avoid Odelia, but she quickly tripped after him, giving Aissa a wave. “So you managed to pin down time of death, huh, Detective?”
But Chase simply kept on walking, a set look on his face.
“Did you get a cause of death, too? Detective Kingsley?”
Chase sped up, taking long strides that forced her to break into an awkward gait. “You can’t keep ignoring me! As a reporter I have rights!”
He abruptly stopped and she almost bumped into him.
“I acknowledge the fact that you have rights, Miss Poole,” he ground out slowly, “but I, for one, don’t feel obliged to honor those rights. I’m sure that whatever you need to know you can find out from your uncle, but trust me when I tell you that I intend to conduct this investigation by the book, and that doesn’t include catering to the wishes of nosy reporters such as yourself.”
“Well, then that’s your loss, Detective!” she found herself crying out, his words having pushed one button too many. “I’ll have you know that I could have been a real boon to this investigation. I know this town, and everyone in it! I know this place inside out, while you’re the new guy, and don’t know a single person around here.” She now found she was tapping his chest with her finger, and marveled how hard it was. The guy was built like Iron Man!
“You may know everyone in town, Miss Poole,” he growled, “but I represent the law, and I intend to honor my obligation to uphold it, and not allow this investigation to turn into a freak show or a town hall meeting. Good day to you.” And with these words, he left her fuming on the sidewalk.
The gall of the man! Max was right. Kingsley was the spitting image of his cat: overbearing, obnoxious, and despotic. Who did he think he was, barging into town and deciding she had no business investigating a murder? She’d show him. She’d solve this murder long before he’d ferreted out his first clue. She’d show him he wasn’t the hotshot detective he thought he was.
Still fuming, she resolutely set foot for the police station. Good thing her uncle wasn’t as unwilling to share information as Kingsley was. She’d find out what the medical examiner had unearthed, and she’d take it from there.
Chapter 10
Dooley and I were just on our way to the newspaper to tell Odelia the latest on Chase Kingsley, when I saw a familiar figure strutting along Main Street. Scratch that. When I saw two familiar figures strutting along Main Street as if they owned not only the street but the entire town. They were none other than Brutus and… Harriet!
“Look!” I hissed, my tail quivering in horror. “Look who’s there!”
Dooley glanced over, and did a double take that practically landed him from the sidewalk into the gutter. “Oh. My. God! You were right! Harriet is falling for the creep! No wonder she was defending him! She likes that cat!”
“What’s not to like?” I asked bitterly. “He’s an alpha male, remember?”
But Dooley, who’d been on the fence about Brutus before, now seemed to have had a change of heart. Maybe the fact that he’d always been sweet on Harriet had something to do with it. “How dare he?!” he cried. “How dare he barge in here and steal our queens! I’ll show that damn tom!”
“Well, technically Harriet’s not a queen,” I started to say, but Dooley was already stalking in the direction of the love birds—or rather love cats.
Dutifully, I followed in his pawsteps. I couldn’t very well let him handle Brutus all by himself. As his friend and sometimes housemate I needed to have his back, like I was sure he’d have my back if something ever happened to me. It’s not a strict rule with us cats, mind you. Usually we only have our own backs, and don’t care too much about other cats. We’re not dumb herd animals like dogs. We’re solitary hunters, and used to taking care of number one. But Dooley was my buddy, and I needed to protect him from this brute.
“Dooley! Wait!” I yelled therefore, and shot across the street after him, after looking left and right. I may be a good Samaritan, but I’m not suicidal.
When I arrived on the other side of the road, Dooley was already engaging Brutus in open warfare, while Harriet seemed taken aback by this sudden vehemence her usually placid housemate suddenly displayed.
“How dare you?!” he was yelling at Brutus, even going so far as to tap him smartly on the chest. “How dare you breeze into town and take… our stuff,” he lamely added with a quick glance at Harriet. “You can’t do that!”
But Brutus wasn’t the least bit disconcerted by this sudden sign of a local uprising. Mel Gibson, had he been present at the scene, war paint and all, would have taken charge, and destroyed this nasty interloper once and for all. But Dooley was no Mel Gibson, and Brutus had no trouble putting him in his place. “Look, you moron,” he said, disdainfully swatting away Dooley’s paw. “Things are going to change around here, so you better get used to it.”
“We’ll see about that!” Dooley cried bravely.
“My human is in charge now, with your human playing second fiddle. Chase Kingsley is running this town now, and so am I, and if you want to survive under my regime, you better do as I say or else.” He then turned to Harriet and added, “Come on, toots. Don’t listen to this riffraff.”
“Who are you calling riffraff?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you cut this loser loose, Harriet? Tell him where he can put his new regime.”
“Yeah, tell him, Harriet,” Dooley said. “Tell him we’re your best friends and that we’re in charge of this place, not him.”
Brutus turned to Harriet. “Remember what I promised you, sweetie pie. Fresh raw meat.
An all-you-can-eat buffet of fresh raw meat. Just think what it’ll do to your coat. It’ll be even prettier and shinier than it is now already.”
Harriet’s eyes glittered at the prospect of fresh raw meat, and not the kibble Marge always gave her, and she tilted her chin. “Sorry, guys,” she said. “But it looks like things are changing in this town, and either you adapt… or you perish.” She shrugged. “It’s a law of nature, or didn’t you know?”
“But Harriet!” said Dooley, looking thoroughly confused now, and extremely disappointed by this behavior from one he’d always admired from afar. Well, not afar, exactly, as he’d been living with Harriet all his life, but you catch my drift. “You can’t go with this cat. He—he—he’s a… Damien!”
Brutus narrowed his eyes. “What are you calling me, gib?”
Dooley winced. “Damien?”
“It’s just a dumb movie,” Harriet explained. “Let’s go, Brutus.”
Brutus stared at Dooley for a few seconds more, with Dooley appearing to shrink inside his fur. Finally, content that he’d once again destroyed the competition with the mere power of his presence, Brutus gave us both a nasty grin, clicked his tongue, cocked a nail at us and strutted off with Harriet.
“This isn’t fair, Max,” said Dooley plaintively. “He can’t do this.”
“Well, he just did,” I said as I glared after the couple.
“But he can’t just take Harriet! What’s Marge gonna say?”
“Marge is going to discover a cuckoo has taken over the nest. I have a strong suspicion Brutus is extending his dominion to both our backyards.”
Dooley looked up in abject alarm. “He’s moving in.”
“Not moving in, exactly, as he won’t want to exchange his all-you-can-eat meat buffets for Marge’s kibble, but we’ll be seeing a lot more of him from now on.” I sighed despondently. “We better face it, Dooley. Our little band of three has just turned into a foursome. And judging from this small preview, we won’t be the top cats. More like the downtrodden ones.”
“But I don’t want to be the undercat!” cried Dooley.