by Diane Bator
"Me too." Gilda managed a tired smile. "Trying to lose a couple pounds, I mean. For me though, not for a tournament. Running helps."
"I hate running unless it's after an ice cream truck. Hard to believe someone would kill Walter. He was such a nice guy." He sat on the top step. "Pretty violent way to go. Whoever killed him would either have to be pretty strong or find an easy way to incapacitate him, like poison or a knock to the head. Personally, I think I'd prefer something more subtle, like poison or a heart attack. What about you?"
She raised her eyebrows. Why would he talk that way? Had he poisoned her coffee? Dumb thought. Walter's death had suddenly made her suspicious of everyone. Xavier always brought her coffee. He and Mick were the only two instructors who gave her a second glance, let alone brought her coffee or treats, especially when they needed her to do a little extra work for them. Walter had brought her fresh tea herbs from his garden. She blinked back a fresh batch of tears and gagged, suddenly unable to swallow.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. Sorry. I couldn't sleep." Let alone think of how she wanted to die.
She thought about inviting him inside but instead joined him on the porch and sat on the top step. The sun seeped into her pores and warmed her flesh. Inside, she quivered, still able to picture Walter lying dead on the mats when she closed her eyes.
Xavier sat next to her and patted her shoulder. "You did all the right things, kiddo."
"I didn't do anything." Gilda took a sip of coffee. Perfect, as usual, with a faint hint of almonds. Amaretto or cyanide? She normally loved the flavor, but her stomach gurgled, mostly from stress. Gut instinct told her not to drink it or she'd be sick there and then whether it was poisoned or not. She could reheat it later once her stomach settled. "All I did was go to work, find a body, and not have a total meltdown until I got home."
"Some people would've run off screaming," he said. "They would've locked the door and left him for someone else to find."
Would Xavier have left? She frowned. Nah. At one time, Xavier owned his own school, but then he gave it up to pursue a high-ranking job with a company selling martial arts gear. The same company the school currently bought all its gear from. He had nothing to gain by poisoning her anyway.
"At least the cause of death is obvious. He took a katana to the chest, Mick said. The autopsy would be a lot more difficult if Walter had been poisoned."
As Gilda pretended to sip her coffee, her suspicions of Xavier growing, her gaze fell on the dent in the right front fender of his car. Xavier pampered his Mazda, his pride and joy that he washed and polished weekly. Any scratches or dents were new, or she would have heard him rant about them.
"What happened to your car?" she asked.
At the same time, he said, "We should close the school for a few days."
"Yes." She even answered him at the same time.
"An accident," he said.
"Were you hurt?" Was it her imagination he hid his left hand slightly behind him? She brushed off the thought, hating the sudden suspicions that had sprung up with Walter's death.
"How long are we closing for?" he asked.
The diversion irked Gilda, but she didn't let on. "Until after the funeral. I'm keeping in touch with everyone on Facebook and e-mails. At least I can still do some work from home."
"Have you…?" He hesitated. "Have you noticed any discrepancies in the books? Money missing? Supplies not in inventory?"
Her ears tingled, and she failed to keep her mouth from falling open. "Do you think someone's been stealing from the school?"
He turned away. "Just wondering if there was a motive for Walter's death. Maybe he caught someone stealing."
"Are you serious? Is that what the meeting at Café Beanz was about?"
Xavier shrugged. "It was just a thought."
"I know a couple of the guys want to start their own schools, but I can't believe anyone would stoop low enough to steal from Mick and Shihan Yoshida." Gilda had the impression he was trying to justify Walter's murder out of grief. Or remorse. Xavier seemed to know a lot of ways to kill someone. She shivered, glad she hadn't invited him into her house. She clutched her coffee cup so tight the paper dented. "Mick would've noticed."
"Maybe—if he wasn't so preoccupied with Chloe and his new business."
"What new business?"
"Well, not his exactly," Xavier said. "He and a bartender friend are flipping houses. I hear they bought a place on Oakland Drive last week. It's already half gutted, and some cute blonde he knows from the gym is doing the decorating."
Why hadn't she heard about that new business? That was probably why Mick was more distracted than usual lately. Well, that and Chloe wasn't a cute blonde—more like a sour-looking brunette. Was he cheating on her?
"I'd better go." He glanced at his watch. "I told Walter's wife I'd stop by. I think their kids are coming today."
"Sure." Gilda brought the cup to her lips, her gaze on Xavier as he walked to his car and waved over his shoulder. She'd never known him to be chummy with Jade Levy before. Quite the opposite, actually. In the past, he walked on the other side of the room seemingly to avoid the Dragon Lady, as he called her. Him going to see her now just seemed wrong, but death had an odd way of pulling people together.
She sat up with a sudden thought. "Hey, Xavier, are you missing a ring?"
"Why?" His face darkened with a frown, and his step faltered.
Gilda hesitated. "I found one with a karate symbol on it, but I don't know who it belongs to. You don't happen to know who owns one, do you?"
"No. Sorry."
"Okay. Thanks. Just thought I'd ask."
Once he left, it occurred to her he never asked what kind of karate symbol was on the ring. Did he already know which ring and who it belonged to, or was he just distracted?
Gilda zipped her coffee cup into a sandwich bag and carried it to the police station, hoping to see Fabio and avoid Thayer, if at all possible. Fabio grew up with Mick in Detroit, and the two trained together until Fabio became a cop. Rumor—well, Happy actually—said he settled in Sandstone Cove for the peace and tranquility of a small lakeside town after taking a knife to the back during a drug raid. He probably started to second-guess that idea after being saddled with Thayer.
Fueled by fear, her mind bounced from thought to thought. She had enough money tucked aside to leave town and rent a cottage on a beach along the East Coast. For years, she'd thought of vacationing near the ocean. Maine seemed like a good option. Maybe even Florida, if she found a way to save on airfare. Anywhere she could sit and read and pretend she'd never discovered a dead body or worked for Mick Williams.
"Excuse me, Miss." A dark car pulled up to the curb, and a man in his midfifities peered out the window. Scars marred his face, and his eyes hid behind dark sunglasses.
Her gurgling stomach and common sense made her take a wary step back out of his reach. "Yeah. Can I help you?"
"You're Gilda Wright," he said. "I'm Gary. I knew your dad quite well. I'm sorry for your loss. He was a good man."
She winced. "I know who you are. My dad arrested you a few times, didn't he?"
Gary del Garda, local bookie and gangster as well as Chloe's father, flashed a wide smile and waved a hand. "Bygones. I earned every moment he had me handcuffed, and I had a lot of respect for the man behind the badge."
Gilda stood her ground. "What can I do for you, Mr. del Garda?"
"Gary. Please." He put the car in park. "I hear you work for Mick Williams."
"Yoshida's. Yes, why?" She glanced up and down the street, hoping to have a witness in case he tried anything. Kidnapping topped her list. He could hardly do a drive-by shooting now that he'd parked in front of her, could he?
"Relax," he said. "All I want is a little information."
"Like what?" she asked.
"I'm looking for Mr. Williams so we can settle a little business matter." He pushed up his sunglasses. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find h
im, do you?"
"No, I don't." Her breath stuck in her chest.
"I've seen you with him in Café Beanz."
Gilda tensed, ready to run. "Like you said, I work for him. That doesn't mean I know where he goes when I'm not with him. It's not like I'm his wife or anything."
"Considering he's dating my daughter, Chloe, that's a good thing." He winked and lowered his sunglasses. His eyes were the same murky blue as Lake Erie. "When you see him, let him know I'm looking for him. We have some business to discuss."
"I'll do that." She wiped her sweaty palms on her shorts. Had Mick hired Gary del Garda to kill Walter? Nah, too obvious.
He drove away so slowly she didn't dare turn away until the dark car turned the corner and disappeared. Only then did she breathe and turn her face toward the sun, still able to taste bitter almonds in the back of her mouth. Couldn't hurt to check the coffee out.
A day ago, she would have savored the flavors, unaware of any malice. There was only one person who'd believe her suspicions—Doc Graham—but there was probably little he could do to help.
Armed with the three-quarters-full paper coffee cup, she headed for the police station six blocks over. Since Fabio was on the phone, she set the plastic bag on Thayer's desk. "I think Xavier Wyndham just tried to poison me with cyanide. I need you to get this tested."
"Cyanide?" Thayer didn't bother to hide his amusement. "Honey, if someone slipped you cyanide, you'd have stomach cramps and be hallucinating a lot more than you already are."
When Gilda slammed her palms on his desk, the coffee sloshed in the bag. She'd already had stomach cramps for the past week. She wouldn't have noticed. "Don't be such a jerk. There's already been one murder at the school. What's to say there won't be more? Just send the coffee for testing. It's probably nothing, and I'll be out a good cup of coffee, but…"
Thayer rolled his eyes. "Gilda, you're such a drama queen. Rather than accuse him, I think you should stay away from him and let me take care of things. I'm the cop, not you."
"Then get off your butt and do something cop-like."
A few feet away, Fabio sat at his desk with the phone pressed to his ear. He glanced up and nodded. Whoever he was talking to irritated him to the point his jaw whitened, and he lowered his voice. He met her gaze and held up his index finger like he wanted to have a word.
Thayer ran a hand through his thick, blond hair then studied the paper cup. "Fine. Xavier got this from Café Beanz. I know that for a fact they made amaretto coffee this morning since I got one for Anna at the front desk."
"That's astounding police work, Detective Thayer. Wouldn't that be the perfect way to disguise cyanide?"
"It would if he'd made it at home, added the poison, then brought it straight to your house in a generic paper cup," he said. "What are the odds he stopped at Café Beanz with cyanide in his pocket, and they just happened to have amaretto coffee brewing?"
Slim to none. She didn't need him to tell her that. Apparently, she needed sleep a lot worse than she needed to go for a run. She touched the tissue-wrapped ring in her pocket but refused to hand it over to Thayer. She'd wait for Fabio.
"Go home, Gilda." Thayer returned the plastic bag to her. "Even you know you need proof of a crime to get a search warrant. Unless you get violently ill or fall down dead soon, I don't have probable cause. Only your wild accusations and insanity."
"It's only borderline insanity, and you have no proof." She snatched the bag with the coffee cup from his hand. The argument sounded better inside her head. Said out loud, her words made her sound even more like a lunatic. She wouldn't blame him for physically throwing her out the door.
"Neither, my dear, do you," Thayer said.
Fabio flashed a smug smile in her direction and hung up.
Gilda let her shoulders sag. "So you won't do anything."
Thayer snorted. "I am doing something. I'm investigating a murder and stopped for this amusing little intermission of yours. I wish I had as much time to fool around as you do."
Deflated, her face heated, and she knew was growing redder by the second. She bowed her head, gaze on the industrial gray carpet. Was that a bloodstain or jelly from a donut, near the chair beside her? Part of why she'd taken the job at Yoshida's a few months after breaking up with Thayer was to learn self-defense and feel empowered. Even after nearly two years of training, that confidence escaped her now.
Thayer sighed. "Go home, Gilda."
"What are you going to tell Walter's widow?" She stared at the spot on the carpet she hoped was a jelly donut stain.
"The same thing I'm going to tell you," he said. "Don't leave town. I'll also tell her to stay at least five hundred yards away from you if she values her sanity."
"How dare you?" She stepped toward him.
Fabio pulled on his suit jacket and took her by one arm. "Come on, Gilda—I'll walk you out. Thayer, I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't arrest anyone without me."
Unimpressed, Gilda folded her arms across her stomach and walked out of the police station next to Fabio. "He's a twit. I'd hoped him becoming a detective would change that."
"Nope, he's still a twit." Fabio laughed as they stepped out into the sunshine and paused at the top of the stairs. "You need to relax and leave the detective work to Thayer and me. Worry about keeping that boss of yours happy, and make sure your students don't desert him. It won't be easy to train where a murder occurred."
"My boss keeps happy enough all on his own," she said. "You aren't following me to ask a thousand more questions, are you?"
He shook his shaggy head. "Nah, I've got bigger fish to fry than you, honey. Go grab a fresh coffee and worry about something less scary. It was a random, crazy incident. That's all. This is a tourist town. Whoever killed Walter could be long gone by now."
Or hidden in their midst. Her chin quivered.
"Wait." She grasped his arm and dropped the tissue-wrapped ring in his palm. "I found this yesterday after you guys left the school. It was taped to the underside of a bench and fell off when Mick kicked the bench."
Fabio opened the tissue and frowned. "I've seen that symbol before. That's the goju karate symbol, isn't it? Who's ring is this?"
Gilda bit her lower lip. "I thought it might be Walter's, but now I'm not so sure. Why would anyone hide it?"
"I'll drop it by the lab and see if we can get some prints," he said. "You didn't happen to grab the piece of tape too, did you?"
"No, sorry." She wanted to smack her forehead. "We can go by the school and see if the cleaners missed it. I did take pictures with my phone."
"Text them to me. I'll get hold of the cleaners. He'll let me know if he found anything. Thayer and I have some interrogations to do." Fabio hesitated. "Give me that coffee cup. I'll get it checked for your peace of mind. You're right—we can't be too careful."
She gasped. "You believe me?"
"I need you as a witness, so I'm humoring you. Don't mistake the two."
"Thanks. I appreciate that." Gilda descended the police station stairs. She didn't bother to look back in case he tossed her cup into the trash can. She didn't want to know.
She wandered across the street to the karate school a few doors down to see just how clean the school was and, despite Fabio saying he'd take care of it, to see if the piece of tape was still there. She stuck her key in the lock and entered, breath held as though afraid she'd find something she really didn't want to see. This was the first time she'd ever been nervous to step inside alone.
When she entered the lobby, she froze. The lights in the school were off, but someone moved inside the dojo. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she breathed a sigh of relief.
At some point, Mick had moved the remaining mats together to form a practice space and now trained on the much-smaller square. Training was his way of blowing off steam. All he wore were the thick, white cotton pants and a heavy layer of sweat. Mick never bothered wearing the gi jacket when he trained alone. His movements were sharper and clean
er than all the other black belts. His muscles rippled and shone in the dim lighting with each motion.
She paused in the doorway of the dojo and watched, mesmerized, as he took down one invisible opponent after another. He finished his training and bowed, not bothering to look toward her when he pushed damp hair out of his eyes. "What do you want, Gilda?"
Busted. "I came to check on things."
"There's nothing to check on." He started the new kata, the sequence of movements that mimicked a fight.
Gilda wandered to her desk and frowned at the assorted burger wrappers and leftover cups of coffee scattered across her work surface. Does the guy think he lives here or something? Probably just from another meeting last night. You'd think grown men could learn to clean up after themselves at some point.
Mick gave a loud yell, a kiai, and carried on.
She cleaned up then logged on to check e-mails. Sympathy notes from parents. A couple students who wanted their memberships terminated and money back. An e-mail from Yoshida to remind them he would arrive for training on Tuesday at five. Wednesday morning, because of the long weekend, was Walter's funeral.
"I called and left Yoshida a message this morning to ask if we could reschedule our training session under the circumstances." Mick walked in, droplets of sweat splattering on the laminate floor in his wake.
"I take it he didn't like the idea," she said. "He sent an e-mail an hour ago to say you need to rent him a hotel room. Something with a hot tub and a king-sized bed."
He swore and punched the wall hard enough to leave a shallow indent. "That demanding little egomaniacal rodent." He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You didn't hear that. I'll let the guys know. Can you contact our students?"
"It's Sunday of the long weekend. Most of them won't be home."
"Improvise. Send an e-mail. Leave a message. Isn't that what you'd normally do?" Mick wiped sweat off his face. "You should be somewhere else. It's not healthy to hang out here right now. You need some time away from here."
She blew out a breath. "So do you. Besides, Thayer wants us all here, remember?"
"In town, not in the school." When the front door opened, Mick didn't bother to look over his shoulder. "Thayer's a jerk. Go enjoy your weekend. I'll deal with that two-faced—"