Toasting Up Trouble

by Linda Wiken

  “Are the proposals exactly the same?”

  “From what Ms. Barker says, they are. No wait. The other anonymous planner has suggested a private catering firm rather than the club’s. But that’s about all that differs. This can’t be happening.” J.J. stood and started to pace.

  “Hold on. You’ve got another chance at it. Read on.”

  “I know. Barker wants one unique, dynamic suggestion from each of us by end of day Friday and that will decide who she goes with. Friday! Something unique!” She started pacing faster. She pictured herself racing up the stairs in the Carter building to Olivia Barker’s office on the twelfth floor. Of course, the elevator wasn’t working. As she struggled up to the receptionist’s desk, the clock struck twelve, and a gorgeous blonde wearing a formfitting orange jersey sleeveless dress that stopped midthigh and fab multicolored heels at least six inches high, came out of Barker’s office. She sneered at J.J. as she swept past her and out the door. Olivia Barker appeared at her door and told J.J. she was sorry, but J.J. was too late.

  J.J. realized Skye stood watching her. J.J. gave her a weak grin and slumped on the couch. “Oh boy.”

  “Understatement.”

  J.J. sat staring out the window for several minutes, then sat upright. “I will not lose this one. I’ll come up with something so brilliant it will live on in the annals of event planning. But what?”

  Back at her own desk, Skye asked, “Are you wanting to brainstorm or trying to psyche yourself up?”

  “I think I’ll get my brain in gear first, then try to storm the little gray cells. If all fails, I’ll draw you into the loop. Okay?”

  “Fine. In that case, I’m taking an early lunch with Nick. He wants me to take a look at a new condo he’s thinking of buying.”

  “Whoo-ee. Does this involve a ring in the future?”

  Skye thought about it a second. “We pussyfoot around it, so I doubt it’s anytime soon. He just wants my input. Superior taste, you know.” She winked as she slid her arms into her pale blue jacket, pulled her purse out of her desk drawer, and patted J.J. on the head as she walked past her. “I have complete and utter confidence in you, sweetie. You’ll pull it off.”

  J.J. grunted and went back to staring out the window. What to do? She usually loved coming up with ideas; in fact, that’s the part of the job she enjoyed the most. The follow-through could be tedious and tiring at times. Of course, time management was not her strongest suit. Skye held the trophy in that area. And there were always those pesky obstacles that popped up every now and then, derailing the critical path she’d worked so hard to create. Relying on other people could be a downer sometimes, too. Uh-oh, this wasn’t good. She was spiraling into a funk. Time to think positive.

  The wrap-up of a job well done was the most positive feeling ever. But the ideas were her spark. How could someone else have come up with that same spark? She sat up a bit straighter. She wouldn’t let this anonymous person get the better of her. She could do it. She just had to relax, let the ideas flow. Start jotting ideas on the whiteboard they’d attached to the wall, behind the door when it was open. That was it. Every time she walked out the door, she had to first jot down an idea. Great start.

  The phone rang, and she pushed herself off the couch with a slight groan. Sitting in that position for a prolonged length of time hadn’t been such a good idea. She was limping slightly when the office door opened. She looked over to find Ty Devine staring at her, a look of amusement on his face.

  “I see you’re taking to the fitness project with ease.”

  She shook her head at him and grabbed the phone, but it had already gone to voice mail. She hung up, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Devine?” That was good a good start. “Or are you here to share some information with me?” Time to start pumping him.

  “About what?”

  J.J. bit her tongue before exploding at him. He was goading her; she knew that. She could handle it. “Perhaps about the murder investigation of Antonio Marcotti. It appears I am still a suspect since you volunteered information about it being possible for me to slip back to the scene of the crime.” She glared at him until he answered.

  “First of all, I didn’t volunteer any information. I answered the questions I was asked. And second, it is true. However, if you’re innocent, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “If I’m innocent. Of course I am. But given that, do you really believe I have nothing to worry about?” she asked, unable to hide the quaver in her voice. She sank into her chair.

  He looked at her and sighed. “No, I don’t believe it. I was just trying to make you feel better. I’ve worked with the police before. Hell, I was a cop at one point, and I know how easy it is to have tunnel vision. You find a suspect that fits the bill, and suddenly you make it happen.”

  “You were a cop?”

  He grinned. “Yes, in another life.”

  “Where? When?”

  “Boston. And like I said, another life.” He sat on the edge of her desk. The edge nearest her, she noticed.

  “Why did you quit? Or were you fired?” The devil made me say that.

  He glanced sharply at her. “Like I said, it was another life. Now, I know you’re pretty uptight about all this, but I have a question for you.”

  Despite herself, she felt intrigued. “Shoot. Oops.”

  He grinned again. She almost flashed him one in return.

  “Not today,” he said. “I want you to tell me all you’ve learned so far, and before you try to stonewall again, I’m talking about the Marcotti investigation. If you think I’m not clueing in to the fact that you’re questioning Candy Fleetwood and Rocco Gates, not to mention that you’re friends with Evan Thornton, then you’re delusional. Four equally viable suspects. And you’re the constant here. So, what do you know?”

  She shrugged. “I’m flattered you think I have the ability to figure this out when neither the cops nor you have, but really, I don’t have a clue. Honestly. I know I didn’t do it; equally certain it wasn’t Evan; very sure Rocco is innocent; and, not sure what I think about Candy. How’s that?”

  Ty grimaced. “One of us is not trying hard enough.”

  “You mean you’re clueless, too?” She tried to keep a straight face.

  “That is correct; however, it’s early days.”

  “I thought the cops always say if it’s not solved in the first forty-eight hours, it probably won’t be solved.”

  “You’ve been watching too much TV but that’s generally how it goes. However, for a high profile case like this one, they’ll keep digging, and deeply, for some time. They’ll want a solid case before it goes to trial.”

  He stood and looked down at her. That made her uncomfortable, so she also stood, trying not to groan, and faced him with the desk between them.

  “What makes it high profile? Marcotti wasn’t a politician. He wasn’t overly wealthy, was he? No celebrity status. Or am I missing something?”

  “His wife is independently wealthy, and with that status comes some pull. I’m certain she’ll make sure this is followed through to the end.”

  “Is she your client?”

  He grinned. “Nice try.” He glanced at his watch. “Gotta run. But I’ll leave you with some advice: since you haven’t dug too deeply yet, don’t. There is a murderer on the loose, and he won’t stop at getting rid of you if he thinks you’re getting too close to finding him, no matter how cute.”

  “Excuse me? Cute? Are you using that word in the same thought as a killer?” Her cheeks felt on fire. “As you can see, I’m not getting in your investigative way, nor am I a threat to anyone, so I may or may not ask a few questions here and there. Have a nice afternoon.” She limped to the door and held it open for him.

  He flashed her a smile as he left but said nothing.

  She c
aught the door before it slammed. No good letting him know he’d gotten under her skin. Cute was not her style. Nor was playing sleuth, but she wanted to find out who had murdered Marcotti and save not only herself but also her friends from further anguish. She did not include Candy Fleetwood in that group.

  She was at home later that night, having finished the leftovers from Sunday’s dinner and nursing a glass of red wine, when the thought came to her. Of the group of four, as she had started thinking of them, Candy was the only viable suspect, so what was her motive? And, if it wasn’t Candy, then there were others to be added to the list. How long was the list the police had, and how could she find out who was on it?

  Alison wouldn’t give names, but maybe she would nod or something in answer to questions like Are there more than four suspects? Maybe Tansy’s spy could then fill in the details. J.J. reached for the phone and punched in Alison’s home number.

  “Alison, I have a quick but important question to ask you,” she said when voice mail kicked in. “If you’re free for coffee tomorrow morning, I’ll be at Cups ’n’ Roses at seven forty-five. Let me know.”

  There, that would have to do for now. Except for the list of possible Candy motives. She grabbed a pad and wrote down a heading. How about jealousy? Anger? Or both? She had wanted to be Mrs. Marcotti and he, after months or years (how long had they been together?) had finally told her in no uncertain terms that he would never leave his wife. Candy then plotted, waiting for the right moment when he’d be alone, late at night, possibly leaving a client’s event, which of course he would have told her about. And she lay in wait, stabbing him to death when the coast was clear. That would work.

  However, would her anger have been that raw after a few days of waiting for the perfect killing time? Probably not. So she’d have been better off disposing of the Mrs. and then just stepping into that role.

  Oh no. J.J. had just ruled out Candy as the murderer.

  CHAPTER 16

  J.J. had just paid for her latte when she got a text from Alison saying she was on the way. Within minutes, Alison, in uniform, walked through the door. J.J. had chosen the table nearest the cash and watched as she made her way over.

  “I can’t stay long. Just need to get me and my partner some java.”

  “Let me get them. My treat.”

  “You must want something real bad,” Alison answered, pulling out a chair.

  J.J. smiled. “Hear me out, then we’ll get the coffee. I know you can’t divulge anything about the Marcotti investigation.” She reached out to touch Alison’s arm when she saw the look on Alison’s face. “But, if you could just maybe, like, nod if I’m right or do nothing if I’m wrong, that would help me so, so much. You know that neither I nor Evan are killers. I have to clear our names.”

  “That’s what we have detectives for,” Alison hissed, leaning toward her. “Just trust them and leave it to them.”

  “I’d love to, but I’ve been told by two ex-cops within the past three days that might not be such a good idea—the first part, that is. So all I want to know is if there are more than four suspects being looked at. The ones I know about are me, Evan, Rocco Gates, and Candy Fleetwood. Are there more?”

  Alison sighed and lowered her head then looked up and over to the window. J.J. took that to be a nod. “Oh man. Thank you so much. I feel much better. I don’t suppose you can get me those names?”

  Alison remained still. J.J. sighed. “I didn’t think so. Oh, well, it really is good to know the police are still looking into other possible suspects. Let’s get those coffees. I know you’re rushed.”

  As Alison grabbed the two cups, she said in a low voice, “I do not consider these to be a bribe. You are just being thoughtful to your friend.”

  “Absolutely.”

  J.J. added another two lattes to her tally and headed for the office. After depositing one of them in front of Skye, she stashed her own on her desk, and crossed over to Tansy’s office. The assistant’s desk was empty, so J.J. knocked on the inner office door and entered when Tansy called out.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” she began, “but I need your help.”

  “I told you: keep a lawyer on speed dial.” Tansy started rifling through her Rolodex. “I know just the person to help you.”

  “No, sorry, that’s not what I want. Let me explain.” She waited until Tansy sat back in her chair, giving her full attention. Today’s outfit was a navy suit, the jacket of which was hanging on the back of her chair, and a white blouse with navy polka dots. Power suit. Must be an important day. Maybe a court date.

  “I have it on the best authority that the police have added more suspects to the list in the Marcotti murder. I know of four names, but I’m hoping your spy—uh, source—can give you the names of the others. Do you think that’s possible?” J.J. used her best smile and hoped that would be enough.

  Tansy shook her head. “Not possible. I won’t even ask her. I can’t use her for insignificant things like that. I save her for the big stuff, like if I need some background info for a trial. You can understand that, can’t you?” Tansy’s smile seemed sincere.

  J.J. sighed. “I suppose so, but I’m not sure how else to find out what’s going on.”

  “Why do you need to know? You already said they have over four suspects now. That means you’re off the front burner, at least. Have the police brought you back in for questioning in the past few days? No? You see? Now, I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Come back and see me anytime. My door is always open, and I’m always ready to help.” Tansy waved her away, and J.J. left feeling totally dismissed.

  “‘My door is always open, and I’m always ready to help,’” J.J. mimicked as she flopped down at her own desk.

  “Tansy, I take it. You know with her it’s always quid pro quo. What does she need from you? Think about it. I’m having an early lunch with the corporate team-building trainer who’ll be working with me on the weekend retreat project for the city. How about you?”

  “I’m still trying to come up with a dynamite zinger for Olivia Barker.”

  “I see you’ve added, and subtracted, a few ideas to the whiteboard. How’s that working for you?”

  “Just great. At this rate, I’ll hit the brilliant idea by, say, Christmas.”

  J.J. finished her latte, now cold, and turned her attention to her e-mail. By the time noon rolled around, she had come up with a couple of ideas, both of them non-starters, so decided to heed the call of her stomach and head to Rocco G’s for something to eat. She also hadn’t told him about how well her dinner had gone, and she knew he wanted to hear all about it. She quickly scribbled an idea on her way out. She knew she’d cross it out on her way back in.

  Only one table stood vacant when she arrived at Rocco G’s. She snagged it and then made her way to the counter to order an espresso. “You look a bit frantic, Zoe. Has Rocco deserted you?”

  “OMG, that’s just it. I don’t know. He had to go to the police station a couple of hours ago, and he’s still not back. I’d just walked in the door to start my shift, and he walked out. I’m getting a bit worried, but Hank Ransom—he’s the cook—says it’s nothing.” She shrugged. “I hope you don’t mind, but it might be a bit of a wait for your food.” She smiled an apology.

  “No problem. Could I just sneak back there and ask Hank something?”

  “Sure. I guess it’s okay.”

  While Zoe busied herself delivering two plates of food that had just appeared on the pass-through, J.J. scurried through the swinging door into the kitchen. Probably not the best time to bother a chef, she acknowledged, but she was worried about Rocco.

  “Hank Ransom, isn’t it?” she asked.

  He grunted. He had his back to her, and all she could see were white runners, blue jeans, a long white apron that had been tied in the back over a navy T-shirt, and long dark hair caught back in a ponytail. His body lo
oked very thin. Obviously, he doesn’t sample while cooking.

  “I’m J.J. Tanner, a friend of Rocco’s.”

  He shot her a quick glance without turning to face her. “You’ve been in here before. You’re the one with the questions about cooking Italian, right?”

  “Yes,” J.J. said, pleased that Rocco had mentioned her. “I know this is a bad time to disturb you, but I won’t take a minute. Zoe just told me about Rocco going down to the police station. Did he say anything before going? He’s been gone a long time, hasn’t he?” Although her interview had taken just as long, she realized.

  He turned to look at her and then glanced up at the clock. “He’s been there since ten, but like I told Zoe, he’ll be okay. It’s about the Marcotti murder, but he’s not a killer. They won’t keep him long.”

  “I’m happy to hear you have confidence in him. How can you be so sure he didn’t do it?” She had her own reasons, but she wanted to hear others’.

  He almost put his hands on his waist, but then remembered the bread crumbs coating them and turned back to the counter and the fish he was coating. “He just didn’t. He’s a good guy. He has a short fuse, but it’s out just as fast. Look, I really don’t have time to talk.”

  “Sure. I know. I’m sorry. Thanks,” J.J. mumbled as she backed out of the kitchen.

  By the time her food was set in front of her, about half the crowd had finished eating and left. She thought about her short chat with Hank. She was pleased they agreed on the fact that Rocco wasn’t the murderer. But she had wanted to ask him some more questions. She’d obviously have to come back another time.

  She watched Zoe smooth back her long curly dark hair and secure it again with an elastic band. She really looked the part of a harried mom of twin seven-year-olds but maybe, as Rocco said, that’s what made her so capable of handling the noisy lunch crowd. She’d be heading home shortly and would hopefully have a bit of a break before the kids arrived home from school. Try as hard as she could, J.J. couldn’t imagine that lifestyle. Maybe she’d remain single forever.