Toasting Up Trouble

by Linda Wiken

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Oh, and one more thing: I didn’t mention the argument.” She’d totally forgotten—well, partially forgotten—and then felt she had to hurry up writing the statement for the officer standing at the corner of the desk.

  Skye looked at her, head tilted, eyes wide, and an “are you nuts?” expression on her face.

  “I will tell them next time. If there is a next time.” She crossed her fingers, hoping her involvement with the police had ended.

  Skye just shook her head. “Did you talk to Mr. Portovino? I wonder how he’s taking it.”

  “He was there and talked just long enough to mumble something about it being dreadful, but that was about it. His daughter, Angelica, went into hysterics when she heard, apparently. However, the promise of a new car calmed her down. Or so one of the maids told me.”

  “Huh. Healing powers for sure.”

  Before J.J. could answer, the office door flew open and two uniformed police officers walked in.

  “Ms. Josephine Tanner?” the older one asked, looking from Skye to J.J.

  She raised her hand slightly in answer.

  “Detective Hastings would like you to accompany us down to the station. He has a few more questions for you.”

  J.J. gulped and immediately hoped they hadn’t noticed. Her hand shook slightly as she reached for her purse. “Of course.”

  She glanced at Skye and raised her eyebrows. Skye made the universal “call me” sign. J.J. nodded and followed the officers out the door.

  J.J. sat ramrod straight in the wooden chair, staring at the navy cloth baffle behind Detective Hasting’s desk. Although it was totally blank, she kept hoping something would materialize to draw her attention away from having to deal with the fact that she was back at the police station, this time for a formal interview. She wondered if they used different terms for suspects as opposed to bystanders.

  Eventually, Hastings stopped reading her statement and put it down on his desk on top of his notebook and several other loose papers. He sat looking at her in silence for several minutes. She tried returning his stare but then felt her eyes being pulled back behind him to the baffle. Still nothing showing.

  “That appears complete, Ms. Tanner.”

  She relaxed a little. That voice. She’d always had a thing about British accents. He sounded like such a Boy Scout. She wondered if they had those in England. It was a comforting voice, anyway. Helpful. Reassuring. He crossed his arms on his desk and leaned forward. She tensed again.

  “Now, tell me, what have you left out?”

  “What do you mean?” Her heart started pounding, and she was sure he could see her white Chico’s shirt fluttering.

  “Well, for starters, the entire part about your argument with the deceased. Was there anything else?” Hastings leaned back in his chair and picked up his coffee mug. After taking a taste, he spit it back into the mug.

  J.J. opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. What to say?

  “What were the two of you arguing about?”

  “You mean as we were leaving?”

  He frowned, and she was certain he also growled. “Yes.”

  “Umm, we were discussing the evening’s event.” Keep to the facts. Do not ramble on.

  “And did this include the raising of voices?” He picked up a pencil and started lightly tapping the desktop.

  “Umm, I might have gotten a bit carried away.”

  “You were arguing.” It was a statement.

  J.J. swallowed. “Yes.”

  “About what?”

  “About a dish that Mr. Marcotti had snuck onto the menu after I specifically told him not to do so.” J.J. held her breath, wondering what would come next.

  “I see. And, why would that lead to you being so angry?”

  “I wasn’t so angry. All right, I guess I was. It was a very expensive item and the budget was already at its limit. I’d told him that. He chose to ignore it.”

  Hastings leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Just how angry were you?”

  J.J. wondered just how much to tell. All of it, she guessed. She took a deep breath. “As I said, I was upset by the additional cost that he’d snuck in there. So, I told him he would have to absorb the cost. And then he threatened that if I followed through on my threat to expose him, he would spread the word that I was totally incompetent.”

  “He was a powerful man in his industry?”

  J.J. nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. She was reliving the conversation. What a jerk. Not a good thing to voice in the present circumstances.

  “So, we’ll say that made you extremely angry?” Hastings sounded almost sympathetic, but that could have been the accent.

  J.J. nodded again.

  “Whoever killed Marcotti was plenty mad at him. There was a lot of rage in the stabbing.”

  J.J. gasped. “I didn’t do it. You have to believe me.” She thought about what he’d said. “He was stabbed? I couldn’t. I could never stab somebody. How gruesome.”

  “Every murder is gruesome, Ms. Tanner. You can go for now. I’m sending an officer with you to collect the clothing you wore Saturday night.” He held up his hand to prevent her responding.

  But J.J. just stared at him. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. She couldn’t believe this was happening. To her. To Marcotti. She finally nodded and stood shakily. A female officer appeared and, after getting her instructions, escorted J.J. out the back door, the way she’d come in.

  J.J. sat in silence the entire way to her place. When they got in her apartment, the officer followed her to her closet, where J.J. had hung her dress while waiting to take it to the dry cleaners.

  “And your shoes?” asked the officer.

  J.J. handed them over, and the young woman left. J.J. looked in the bedroom mirror and watched as the tears rolled down her cheeks. After a few minutes, she took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and said to her image, “Suck it up. You didn’t do it and they’ll figure it out. You have nothing to worry about.”

  Indie had wandered in sometime during the process and now wound his sleek body around her legs. She crouched down to pick him up and sat with him in her lap, stroking his back until he finally had enough. She watched as he jumped off her lap and stalked into the kitchen, no doubt needing some sustenance after all that.

  Her gaze strayed around the living room. It was her sanctuary, had been her sanctuary ever since she’d fled Montpelier and her disastrous engagement. She’d even decorated the apartment in blues and white, beach colors that were a reminder of childhood and the summers spent on the East Coast at her grandparents’ cottage. So much for a haven from the nasties of the world. Not even the entire wall of books, mainly mysteries but also her treasured four shelves of cookbooks, could cheer her up.

  She sighed and glanced out the window, groaning when she realized it had started pouring sometime after they’d arrived at her apartment. Ordinarily, she loved the sound and smells of rain; however, right now she was in the mood for neither. She also realized her car was parked in the lot behind the office, so she had two basic options for getting back to the office: by foot or by cab. Her other possibility for a ride was her neighbor, Ness Harper. He might just be home, and better yet, being a retired cop and all, he might be a sounding board for what had just happened. Hopefully, he was home. And hopefully in a good mood.

  He answered on the fifth try.

  “Yeah?” He opened the door a crack, just enough for J.J. to realize Ness was still in his bathrobe.

  “Hi, Ness.” She leaned toward the opening, wanting to make sure he saw who it was standing there. “I’m really sorry to bother you but I have a very big favor to ask.”

  She paused. He said nothing. That didn’t surprise her.

  “Uh, I need a lift to work.”

&nbs
p; “Why?”

  “It’s pouring outside, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “My question was why. Where’s your car?”

  She took a deep breath and hoped to get through the explanation without having to dwell on it, because she was afraid if she did that she’d get the shakes or start crying again. “Uh, a body was found outside the event I organized Saturday night, and the police just had me in at the station to answer some questions. The officers picked me up at work and drove me to the station, then one of them brought me here and took away the clothes I was wearing that night.” She sighed and realized her voice was shaking. “And left me here.”

  Ness Harper opened the door wider and stood blocking the doorway, arms crossed and legs slightly apart. “And just why do those blockheads think you’re a suspect?”

  “Because I was the last person to see him?”

  “There’s gotta be more.”

  She tilted her chin and straightened up. “And we’d had a rather loud fight outside just before leaving.”

  He looked at her a few seconds before replying. “Okay. Just give me a minute to throw some duds on. I’ll knock on your door.” He closed his door in her face.

  J.J. went back into her apartment. She was used to the abrupt manner in which Ness dealt with people. They’d shared the elevator one night shortly after she’d moved in, and he’d told her that he’d had his fill of people in his thirty-five years working as a cop. Now all he wanted was to be left alone.

  She usually tried to abide by that, although her first invitation to him to share a spaghetti dinner at her place had been snapped up. And since then, he’d had her over for pizza a couple times, and more recently he was trying out new recipes on her. She still respected his privacy and never pried into his life, present or former, but realized he was someone she could count on. As he’d just proven.

  It took less than five minutes for him to knock on her door. She grabbed her purse and raincoat, and ended up trailing him down the hall. He didn’t speak again until they were out of the parking lot.

  “Who’s the dead guy?”

  “Antonio Marcotti. He owns Bella Luna, the Italian restaurant on Hart Street.”

  “How’d he die?”

  “He was stabbed. Repeatedly.”

  “Crime of passion.” He looked at her when he came to a stop sign. “Were you passionate about the guy?”

  “Me? No way. I was mad at him because he tried to stiff me with a high-priced dish, but not mad enough to kill him.”

  “No hanky-panky going on the side?”

  “Ugh. No.” She shuddered at the thought.

  “Okay. I’d advise you to stick to the facts next time you’re being interviewed, and don’t offer anything extra. Got it?” He pulled up in front of the office.

  “Next time?”

  “Oh yeah. They’re not finished with you, not if they’re checking your clothes for traces of blood or anything else that might prove you did it.”

  J.J. felt the tears about to fall again. She gave her head a shake. “I am innocent.”

  “Well, then don’t sweat it. If they get it wrong, we’ll set it right.” He sounded a little less gruff, so J.J. looked over at him. She wanted to give him a hug but thought better of it.

  “Thanks, Ness. Thanks for the lift and the advice.” She hopped out of the car.

  “’snothing.” He waited until she’d closed the door, then pulled a U-turn and sped away.

  J.J. dashed into the building and watched as Ness’s gray Chevy sedan turned the corner, not headed back home, but toward the city. Maybe to the police station?

  CHAPTER 11

  “Do the police have any ideas or suspects, except for you?” Skye asked after listening to J.J.’s account of her morning.

  “They’re not really into sharing, Skye.”

  Skype jumped out of her chair and enfolded J.J. in a hug. “Don’t worry. You didn’t do it. Who could believe you’d do such a thing? And really, being ticked off with a person, even though he was a slimeball, is hardly a big enough motive to kill that somebody.”

  J.J. sighed. “That’s what I think, but who knows what the police think? Ness Harper said it sounded like a murder committed in passion or something like that.”

  “Passion? Hm. Was Marcotti playing around on his wife? Maybe coming on to somebody on his staff? Or even bothering a guest?”

  J.J. shrugged. “I have no idea. I just know it wasn’t me. Now, we’d better give some thought about damage control. Make It Happen wasn’t mentioned in the newspaper article this morning, but it’s sure to surface soon. And if my name gets mentioned as a ‘person of interest’ or whatever they call them, it might not be so good for business.”

  “Now, don’t you go worrying about that. We’ll just issue a statement, if necessary, keeping it short and sweet. Something to the effect that Mr. Marcotti’s catering services were used at an event organized by Make It Happen and our condolences to the widow. Something like that. He was married, I’m assuming?”

  “I have no idea. I know nothing about the guy, but I know who would.”

  “Evan.”

  “Right.” J.J. headed for the door. “I think I’ll just go have a chat with Evan and see what I can find out. I also want to get his take on the fast one Marcotti pulled.”

  J.J. ran down the stairs, although the two-inch heels on her black leather boots made it tricky going. She knocked on the door to Design Delights and walked in without waiting for an answer. Evan Thornton looked up from the newspaper he was reading and stood to walk over to J.J. He looked so solemn that J.J. almost smiled. He hugged her, then settled her in a chair.

  “I was just reading about the murder,” he said, rushing over to pour her a cup of tea. “That’s so dreadful. Absolutely unthinkable. Here, have some of my special chai tea, guaranteed to soothe all irritations, and tell Evan all.”

  He passed her a cup and sat down with his own, pulling his chair over until they were almost knee to knee.

  J.J. took a sip and then told the entire story once again. When she had finished, Evan looked shocked. Then he placed his teacup down carefully on the desk and started pacing.

  “I feel so responsible. I knew he could be a bastard in business dealings, but I never ever thought he’d pull a fast one like that on you. Truly, J.J., I should have warned you off when you first mentioned him.” Evan looked so distressed that J.J. reached out to touch his arm.

  “I believe you, Evan. I’m shocked about what he did to us, of course, but it’s now taken second seat to his murder. And what’s worse from my perspective is that I’m a suspect.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. I was the last person to see him. We walked out to our cars at the same time, and we were arguing. I’m sure his staff heard us as they scurried to the van, trying to escape the scene. Probably the butler heard, also. Then next morning, he’s found dead in his car. Knifed.”

  “You wouldn’t use a knife.”

  “Oh, thanks, Evan,” J.J. said. “What would I use?”

  Evan looked horrified. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, using a knife is very up close and personal. And it takes a lot of strength, I’d think. You’d really have to hate the guy to do something like that, and I know that lets you out. You’d only just met him. I’m thinking that kind of hate take years to build. Besides, you wouldn’t harm a fly.”

  J.J. raised her eyebrows.

  “Okay, a spider maybe, but not a fly.”

  J.J. started laughing. “Thank you for the testimonial, Evan. But it would be better if you could come up with another suspect. Can you think of anyone who might fit that bill? You worked with him on the restaurant reno for several months. Can you remember anyone, maybe a supplier or a contractor or even one of his staff, who might have a hate on for him?”

  Evan sat and thought, fina
lly shaking his head. “There were some encounters of the yelling kind, for sure, but I can’t come up with any one single person who seemed that upset. Of course, we had our set-to but that was it. I’ll bet it was something personal, like the husband of someone he was sleeping with.”

  “He was married, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, but he was also Antonio Marcotti. He had quite a reputation with the women.” Evan went over to pour himself another cup of tea.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Why would you?” he asked, his back to her. “The food business is a very insular little community. And then there’s his Italian connections. I’ve heard he was a big wheel in that community, too.”

  “Hm. Do you think his wife,” she shrugged, “you know . . .”

  He turned around and went back to his desk. “Knew about his affairs or kill him?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “I met Gina Marcotti a couple of times when they were thinking of using my services to decorate their home. She was really into my ideas but totally ignored Marcotti when he was around. So maybe she did know, but I think she just didn’t care enough about him to get upset. Which probably means she didn’t kill him, either. I understand it’s all her money anyway, so I guess she gets to do all the choosing at home. They have quite the palatial digs. But I’d love to get my hands on their color scheme. That’s all it would take to give the place some high-class glam.”

  J.J.’s eyes wandered to the clock on the opposite wall. “Oh man. Look at the time. I feel like I’ve wasted the entire day. Where did it get to?” She held up her hand. “Don’t answer that. I know, unfortunately. Guess I’d better get going. Thanks, Evan.”

  He nodded. “Keep the faith. They’ll catch who did it.”

  J.J. certainly hoped so. She returned to her office and found a note on her desk from Skye, who was at a meeting downtown with a supplier and would call later.