by Linda Wiken
“That’s a good description. I try not to dwell on it, especially since I do have deadlines at work, but sometimes . . .”
He covered her hand with his and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I know you’re innocent, and I also know that Evan is, too.”
“What about Rocco?”
“I don’t know much about him. I’ve been to his bistro a couple of times and he seems like a nice guy, but we’ve never really talked. I would think, though, that if you like him and trust him, he’s gotta be okay.”
“Thanks.” J.J. took a sip of the wine that had been served while they were talking. “He’s been good to me. I feel I owe him.”
“Have you talked to Alison about all this? She is a police officer, after all.” Connor offered her a slice of still-warm bread and pushed the butter dish closer to her.
“I haven’t seen Alison since we were all at the Cups ’n’ Roses. I can’t keep track of her work schedule.”
“Well, why not give her a call? Get her take on how it’s going. I bet she’ll help put your mind at ease.”
J.J. thought about it. “Sounds better than just sitting around worrying.”
CHAPTER 14
Sunday morning, J.J. woke with a start, checked the clock on her bedside table, and flopped back on the pillow. Within seconds, Indie had jumped onto the bed and snuggled in beside her.
“Good morning, Indie. Did you do your early-morning rounds looking for bugs?” She ran her hand along his back, enjoying the softness and the resulting calm she always felt. After ten minutes, she eased away from him and pushed herself to get up. She had a busy day ahead.
She really needed a morning walk to clear her head and run over the list of to-dos for today’s dinner. She put the cat food out, chugged a tall glass of water, and left.
The morning was cooler than she’d supposed but held the promise of sun and therefore warmer temperatures by the afternoon. She turned toward the bay and by the second block was into her power-walk stride. She would head straight to the water and walk along to one end, then circle back home.
She met several dog walkers, none of whom she knew, but she greeted them with a smile. She loved walking down Gabor Avenue and looking in the shop windows. This was where the tourist quality of the village really shone through. She’d have to come back later and have a closer look at the brightly striped cushions she spotted in the window of Accent. The store next door, Imagine That, showcased an equally tempting orange throw in its window. Oh, to have the time, and the money, to indulge.
She reached the boardwalk and was happy to see only one other person around, and she was jogging in the same direction but well ahead. J.J. took the stairs down to the sand and continued walking north, putting all thoughts out of her mind. The to-do list could wait for the walk back. At the end of the sandy part, she stopped where a wild thicket of brush and undergrowth provided a natural buffer to keep interlopers away from the estates that lay beyond, and veered right. That brought her within viewing distance of the gates to the Portovino estate. She stopped abruptly and sucked in her breath as the memory of her shouting match with Marcotti flooded back. Such a beautiful setting for such a tragic happening. She wondered if the Portovino family felt the same every time they stepped out of the house. Maudlin.
Time to head back and get the show on the road.
By two, the kitchen was a mess, and everything had been measured and prepared for the final stages in the cooking process. She glanced around. Why could she not clean up as she went along? Other cooks did. Those cooks were also less frazzled when it came time to dish up, she’d bet. She sighed and gathered all the dirty dishes and equipment, ran a sinkful of water, and washed down the countertop.
She’d loved the apartment when she’d first seen it two years ago. One of the major selling features for her was the open concept and resulting brightness in every room. However, that was also the main problem, especially when it came to having dinner guests. The kitchen had to be totally cleaned first. Counters cleared and washed. Nothing extra to clutter the space.
She glanced at the clock and realized she wouldn’t have time to Skype with her mom. She’d tried yesterday but it had been a rushed day for the Tanners, June and Adam, with her mom showing several houses to a client in town for the weekend, and her dad busy painting up a storm. Or maybe it wasn’t a landscape he was working on this time. As a successful Realtor, June Tanner’s days were filled with activity, quite different from when J.J. was growing up. Then she’d been a stay-at-home mom until the youngest child, J.J., entered high school, and then the floodgates opened and June was all about the job.
J.J.’s dad was usually found at his easel in his studio that had been added to the north end of the house. That had been a given all though her childhood. It had led to a prominent place in the artistic community and a house full of original paintings. J.J. had many of them adorning her walls, too. She’d chosen the ones having to do with water, complementing the seashore colors she’d chosen for her rooms. The water had always been a source of comfort and relaxation for her, and after her turbulent life in Montpelier, she’d decided to make her new apartment an oasis. And it had worked. Until the murder.
She looked at the sink and sighed again but was spared having to actually stick her hands in the water when the doorbell rang.
She checked through the peephole and saw Ness Harper staring back at her. He waggled his eyebrows and held up a bowl at eye level.
“Good afternoon. This is a surprise,” she said, pulling the door wide open.
“I know this is your big cooking day, so I thought it would be a good idea to share my special lunch with you. Help you get into the right frame of mind without actually having to do anything yet. That’s if you haven’t already eaten. I know it’s a bit late for lunch.”
“That’s so thoughtful, Ness. I just worked straight through without taking a break to eat.”
“I thought as much.”
She reached for the bowl. “What is it?”
“Just some chili.” He shrugged. “Haven’t tried this particular recipe before, but it looked interesting.”
“Will you share it with me?”
“Nope. I’ve eaten.”
“Well, how about some coffee?”
“That I will do.” He led the way into the kitchen as she shut the door.
She set the bowl on the counter and peeked at it. “Looks and smells yummy,” she said.
“I tried it with some vegetables this time. Carrots and celery along with some different herbs. It should still have a kick, though.” Ness sat at one of the stools at the counter. “So, what’s new with the cops?”
J.J. shook her head. She finished making their coffee and carried it over to the counter. “I was hoping I was off the hook after what Ty Devine told them, but Detective Hastings called yesterday and asked a few more questions. He admitted I’m still on the list because I could have doubled back after Devine left.”
Ness swore under his breath. J.J. smiled, feeling pleased to have his support. At least, she thought that’s what it meant.
“I’m less worried now, though,” she lied. “Their suspect list is getting longer by the day.”
“Oh yeah? How so?”
“Well, my friend Evan Thornton—you remember him—has been questioned, as has Rocco Gates, the owner of Rocco G’s, although I’m certain neither of them had anything to do with it. That makes three of us who are actually innocent, so I’m hoping they have another list of people more likely to be the killer. I wonder if Candy Fleetwood has been added to that list.” She debated over whether to tell him about her upcoming appointment with Candy and decided Why not?
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you can’t come right out and ask her if she did it,” Ness commented when she’d filled him in.
“I know that. But I hope I can get a feel for how their relati
onship was going. If it was on the rocks, she could be a suspect.”
“The wife sounds like a better suspect, especially if she knew, and I do believe every wife knows, at some point.”
J.J. took a sip of her coffee and pondered that. She wondered if Ness was speaking from personal experience. “Well, we know that she realized there was an affair, because she hired Devine to find out who it was with, even though he won’t admit it to us. And as far as we know, he was still trying to find the person at the time Marcotti was killed. That’s why Devine was tailing me.”
“Or so he says. I wouldn’t be too quick to believe everything that shyster tells you.”
“Is this instinct or knowledge speaking?” J.J. smiled.
“Humph. Thirty-five years, partly on the street and then working as a detective. Look, I gotta go. You keep out of trouble, you hear?”
J.J. saluted him. “Yessir. And, thanks, Ness.”
He made a gruff sound in his throat and let himself out.
So, he doesn’t trust Devine. I don’t, either, but he may be the best chance at finding the killer. If I can’t. Where did that come from? I don’t know how to do this, and I don’t want to. Not really.
J.J. went back to tidying the kitchen. As much as she appreciated Ness’s gesture, her stomach was too tied in knots to eat anything right now, even though she had skipped lunch. She stuck the chili in a covered glass dish and set it in the fridge. Her mind kept going on the sleuthing track. She pictured finally cornering the killer, although his face was in the shadows and unidentifiable. She tried talking tough, but he came at her with a large knife, which she couldn’t escape. So much for a worst-case scenario. Her mind then landed her behind bars, in jail, charged with murder. Maybe this was the worst-case scenario. Either way, she shuddered and blinked, glad to have that over with.
Now, dishes first, then maybe a short lie-down with Indie. She shrugged her shoulders and held in that position for a count of twenty, then released. After doing this three more times, she tilted her head to each shoulder and then shook out her arms and hands.
Tension begone.
“The cookbook was a good choice, J.J., with lots of tempting recipes, but I sort of missed there not being an appetizer section,” Evan said as he scooped a spoonful of the fettuccine with mushrooms, marsala, and mascarpone onto his plate.
“Are you complaining?” Alison asked. “And by the way, I believe the correct term is antipasto, not appetizer.”
“Point to you, Alison. You know I never complain, but it is unusual. Am I the only one feeling this way?”
“You’re right,” Connor answered. “Usually, there’s a variety of antipasti—at least that’s what’s on the menu in an Italian restaurant, so I’m sure other cookbooks include a section.”
“Well, the cover does call them ‘Italian-inspired recipes.’ So I guess Nigella is using her favorites or recipes that complement each other. I mean, it’s like any author crafting a book, be it a novel or nonfiction. They get to choose what they want to include or leave out,” Beth added.
J.J. nodded. “I’m with you on that. And another thing the cover says is ‘easy.’ I’m sold.”
Everyone laughed, and Evan passed the basket of pane, the crusty Rosetta rolls provided by J.J. The rules allowed the host to add such items to the menu, even if they weren’t included in the cookbook being used.
Silence followed while they each savored the flavors on their plates. Too nervous to eat, J.J. scarcely touched her food. And what she did try was tasteless. Had she chosen the wrong cookbook? Had she made a mess of her dish? Had she known what she was getting into?
“Absolutely delicious,” Beth pronounced at last. “I love the pizzaiola. Like it says in the cookbook, it reminds me of a pizza topping, and you know how I love pizza.”
J.J. gave a quiet sigh of relief. She glanced around at the others. Looked like they all agreed.
“You’ve really done it, J.J. It looks inviting and tastes great. I’ll bet it wasn’t an easy choice for you to make, no matter what the cover says.” Evan added a second helping of everything to his plate. “In fact, I think all of the dishes are delicious, and we have chosen a very compatible meal. By the way, I noticed the beef—or rather, turkey—pizzaiola called for anchovies.” He looked directly at Alison as he said this and she made a gagging sound. “I’m assuming you got around that, or Alison would not be faking her ungracious gesture.”
“I asked Rocco Gates for some suggestions, and he came up with using miso. I hope it’s worked.”
“It’s seamless,” Beth agreed. “And it smells wonderful, just begging you to stick a fork in.”
“You can relax and eat now,” Alison said, giving her an elbow nudge.
J.J. smiled. “That obvious?”
Alison nodded and took another mouthful of the pizzaiola.
J.J. did the same. She took a couple seconds to savor the flavor before swallowing. The turkey was tender, and a tang came from the garlic, olives, and capers. Yay!
“Okay, so what did you like best about this book?” Connor asked J.J.—the standard question at all their dinners. “Besides the pictures, I mean.”
J.J. waited until the chuckles had stopped. She’d prepared for this part, too.
“It really is a helpful book. Nigella Lawson has included all sorts of cooking tips and sections that give an explanation about the ingredients. It’s like she was here, sitting at the counter, talking me through it. I actually picture her with a glass of red wine in hand, leaning of the counter, encouraging, sipping. Of course, I have to give a lot of credit to Rocco Gates, also. He’s a great teacher.”
“Speaking of Rocco, is he still a suspect?” Beth asked.
“Why are you all looking at me?” Alison asked. She popped a black olive in her mouth. “I told you, this has nothing to do with me. And you should stay out of it. I know nothing, I tell nothing.”
“Well, then you should hear nothing,” Evan suggested. “So, plug your ears.”
“What?”
“You heard me, therefore you haven’t plugged your ears. Just give us a minute to bring everyone up to date, and no lip reading, either.”
“Huh. I do not plug my ears, but I do have to excuse myself and visit the powder room. So talk quickly.” Alison pushed back her chair, nodding at Connor, who was about to pour her some more wine.
They all looked at J.J. and waited.
She gave herself a few moments to organize her thoughts. “Here goes. I’ve hooked up with a personal trainer at High Time Fitness Center because she’s the mistress of the deceased. Some of you may know some of this already.” She glanced at each of them quickly before proceeding.
“Then there’s this private eye who was following me because he thought I might be the mistress.” She heard Connor choke on his wine.
“Of course, I’m not and he knows that now. But he keeps getting in the way, and even though he could have alibied me for the murder, he sort of left me dangling in the suspicions, so to speak.” She avoided looking at Connor. “That’s about where it’s at right now. Except that I’m not guilty, Evan’s not guilty, and I don’t believe Rocco is, either.”
“Do you think the mistress did it and if not, what’s next?”
“I haven’t decided about her yet, and even so, we need more suspects anyway. The police have got to know there are many more people out there who hated the man and could have done the deed. We just have to figure out who they all are.”
“And that, my friends,” Alison said as she walked back to her chair, “is a job for the detectives.”
CHAPTER 15
By Monday afternoon, J.J. felt back in charge of her life. No surprise calls from the police. No Ty Devine crossing her path. She was still getting e-mails from her dinner cohorts with kudos for her Sunday meal. The only negativity in her life came from her three-times-a week visit
to the health club that she’d committed to. Today had been only the first day, and not only had she learned nothing about Candy Fleetwood’s relationship with Antonio Marcotti, but she’d also developed a slight tilt to the left, as Skye pointed out when she entered their office later that morning.
“Are you sure this is what you want to be doing to your body?” Skye grabbed the latte that J.J. held out to her and took an appreciative sip. “Hmm. This is what works for my body. So, tell me: is the torture worth the payback in info?”
J.J. sat down gingerly in her chair and took a sip of her own latte. She could feel its restorative effects as it burned its way down her throat. She blew on it, then took a sip. “It’s really hard to get any casual conversation in when Candy is timing me and checking the the amount of weights I’m lifting all the time. I think I’ll give it the week, and if no opportunity arises, I’ll ask her to meet me for coffee—to talk about my workout plan, of course.”
“If you last that long.”
“There is that.” She set her latte on the desk and turned on her computer. Skye took an incoming call and was in the middle of a conversation when J.J. let out a yelp. Skye eyed her and raised her eyebrows.
J.J. stared at her computer screen and kept shaking her head and groaning. Finally, Skye hung up and scurried across the room to read over J.J.’s shoulder.
“What the frig does that mean?” Skye demanded, pointing at the offending e-mail.
“I have no idea,” J.J. managed to squeak out. “How could another event planner come up with exactly the same plans for Olivia Barker’s retirement party? That’s just not possible.”
“No, it’s not. You suggested an afternoon patio party at the very exclusive Walkton Club with their staff catering, right?”
“Uh-huh.” J.J. felt her words leave her.
“That’s not the go-to venue these days. Most groups want something more modern, down by the water if possible.”
“They do, so that’s why I thought, because we’re talking about someone on the older side since he’s retiring, that an aging-but-still-grand location would be better suited. Obviously, I was thinking too much in the box.”