Toasting Up Trouble

by Linda Wiken

  “Nice. He’s a very honorable gentleman and an invaluable client. That’s a relief, really. You know, sometimes the wealthier they are, the—dare I say—stingier they are. He sounds like a nice guy. Now, how about your other client? And this will be the absolute last talk of work this weekend.”

  “Olivia Barker? I had a brilliant idea and worked it up and e-mailed her Friday afternoon.” She took a long sip of wine before carrying on. “I actually called up the receptionist at Kirking Manufacturing on Thursday and asked to speak to someone who knew the guest of honor really well. The guy I talked to was a wealth of information. Anyway, he said the honoree’s favorite pastime was his model train work. He’s built a miniature town in his basement at home—it takes up the entire space—and keeps adding to the town and the train. He’s absolutely obsessed by it, I’m told.”

  She stood and started pacing, trying to contain her excitement. “So, I was thinking of decorating the side wall of the patio at the Walkton Club in décor that will transform it into a posh railway dining car. We’ll use velvet draped around windows that are painted on the wall to show passing scenery. Everyone attending will be issued a train ticket, which will be punched by ‘conductors.’” She used her hands to provide the quotation marks and was getting more excited as she went on. “We can rent dining-car china, crystal, and white linens from the railway heritage society in Campbellville. The servers will be properly attired, again all rented. Printed menus. The whole bit. I even suggested a subscription to a railroading magazine as part of his gift. What do you think?”

  J.J. looked expectantly at Skye. She realized that, even after a couple of years working for her, it was the one opinion that really mattered.

  “Dy-na-mite. The contract is yours, guaranteed. I wonder what the competition will come up with.”

  “You had to mention that. I know—reality check.”

  Nick knocked on the patio door at that moment, and Skye ran over to open the door for him.

  “Ladies, your superbly grilled dinner awaits you,” Nick said, depositing a plate with the salmon on the table and continuing into the kitchen with the grilling utensils. He came back carrying a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

  Skye scrambled into the kitchen to grab the veggies from the oven. They passed around the food, and J.J. noticed the smile that passed between them. She smiled also. She was happy for Skye. They’d shared a lot over the years, and J.J. was relieved Skye had ended up with one of the good guys. When she thought back to the long string of losers Skye had attracted throughout their college years, she remembered how often she’d wanted to give Skye a good shake. This was more like it.

  Toward the end of the meal, Skye told Nick about J.J.’s van experience.

  “This is turning out to be very dangerous,” Nick said. He pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. That must be really annoying for a dentist, she thought. But it did look good on him. He was much taller than Skye and leaner, but their fair complexions and blond hair were a match. “Skye’s been telling me about all the questions you’ve been asking. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

  “So I’m told. But I continue to believe the police have the wrong man in custody. The more I ask around, the more astounded I am by the number of possible suspects. Antonio Marcotti was not a very well-liked guy.”

  “I attended a banquet he catered once,” Nick admitted. “It was put on by Grimswald Medical and Dental Equipment. They’re one of the largest suppliers in the state. I remember toward the end of the evening there was some big to-do in the kitchen. Lots of yelling, and it sounded like some pots and pans being thrown. The Grimswald fellow came barreling out of there and told the orchestra leader to play louder. I heard him. I was sitting at the table right next to the stage, which in fact was his table, too.”

  “And?” Skye asked when it appeared that Nick had finished his story.

  “There is no and.” He poured some more wine all around. “J.J. said that people didn’t like Marcotti and I remembered the evening. End of story.”

  “How do you know Marcotti was involved?” J.J. asked.

  “Because Mark Erwin, my sales rep from the company, asked what had happened. The other guy said that Marcotti flew off the handle when questioned about a substitution that had found its way onto the menu.”

  Skye gasped. “The same thing that happened to you, J.J.”

  “How long ago was this?” J.J. asked.

  “Oh, a few years ago. Before I met you, Skye.”

  “Probably too long for your Grimswald guy to carry a grudge, unless he lost his job over it or something.”

  “I don’t think that would have happened. He was too high up in the company, as I recall. But I could tell it didn’t sit well with him. He fumed about it most of the night. I’ll bet he never used Bella Luna Catering again.”

  “Oh man, I wish we’d known before contracting with him,” Skye said.

  “It might not have made much of a difference at that point,” J.J. pointed out. “I was desperate for a replacement.”

  “Well, let’s forget about the late Mr. Marcotti and focus on this delicious dinner presented by our own chef, Nick Owens.” Skye raised her glass in a toast.

  “To Chef Owens,” J.J. offered, clinking her glass with Skye.

  Nick stood and bowed from the waist and then passed around the remaining piece of salmon, which he’d sliced into thirds.

  CHAPTER 26

  J.J. had to talk long and hard to convince herself to go back to the High Time Fitness Center on Monday morning. What eventually did the trick was telling herself that her conversation with Candy may have triggered some memory about something Marcotti had said or some other repressed clue. Not likely, but an acceptable reason for returning.

  She’d just about caved when Indie jumped on the bed and snuggled in between the sheet and the duvet. Since his cuddle times were on his own schedule, J.J. really hated to miss any. She stayed put for another five minutes and then eased out of bed. By the time she made it to the fitness club, she was fully awake and raring to go, thanks to two cups of dark roast coffee.

  Candy was waiting in the weight room by the time J.J. had changed and wandered in. She didn’t look her usual peppy self and when she greeted J.J. she sounded even less cheerful than the last time J.J. had seen her.

  J.J. wondered if it was memorial-service lag or maybe too many memories over the weekend. She gave Candy a quick hug. “How are you holding up?”

  “Oh, gee. Okay, I guess. I just feel so lost, you know? Big T used to spend part of the weekend with me and we’d have a lot of fun. This past weekend was no fun at all. I guess I’m just down in the dumps.”

  “It takes a while to get back to any resemblance of normal, Candy. But it does eventually happen.”

  “That’s what everyone’s telling me. So it must be true, huh?”

  J.J. smiled, although she felt herself being dragged down by Candy’s sadness. “Well, I’m ready for some more torture. Lead away.”

  She was rewarded with a small smile as Candy pointed to the seven-point-five-pound weights. “I hope you warmed up before coming in here,” she warned.

  “Oh yeah.” J.J. tried to inject a little enthusiasm into her voice.

  “To tell you the truth, I was wondering if you’d keep on with the program after our talk the other day. And then they said you didn’t show on Friday.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t be here on Friday so I played hooky. But I’ve signed up for this and I’ll see it through.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.” And she sounded so sincere that J.J. visualized them meeting for coffee, going out shopping together, even catching a movie. She shook her head to prevent herself from actually suggesting something like that.

  The hour passed quickly, much to J.J.’s relief. They were heading out to the hall when Candy suddenly stopped. “I guess I should tell you something.”

/>   What, I’m hopeless? Might as well give it up? “What is it?”

  “I don’t know if it means anything—probably not—but Big T was thinking of going into politics.”

  “Really? At what level?”

  “Well, in the city of course. He wanted to represent Half Moon Bay Village.”

  “That’s Don Kelland’s job, isn’t it?” Interesting. Some confirmation about the problem between the two?

  “For now. Big T said the ninny—well, that’s not really the word he used—didn’t deserve the job and he was just the guy to kick his ass. His words.”

  “I’d heard a rumor there was some animosity between the two of them.”

  “Yeah. Well, it wasn’t Big T who started it. Every time he tried to get a variant or whatever they’re called, Mr. Kelland would block it. Or he’d come back and say, once you’ve done so and so, we’ll give it to you. So Big T would do it and go back to the guy and be told he had to do something else. They almost came to blows about it a couple of times.”

  J.J. thought for a moment. “I guess Kelland wouldn’t have been too happy about the competition in the next election.” A better motive?

  “No, but I’m guessing he was even unhappier when Big T told him what he’d learned.”

  “What’s that?” J.J. was all ears.

  Candy quickly looked around her and lowered her voice. “Well, it had something to do with his nephew, and that he—the nephew—had it in for Big T and made sure his uncle saw it the same way.”

  “Big— I mean, Marcotti told you this? Did he tell you why the nephew was so angry?”

  “Something about him having worked at Bella Luna when it first opened, but then he was fired.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Uh-uh. Big T didn’t usually talk about his business, but I guess in this case, it was really bothering him. When I asked some more questions, he said he’d didn’t want to talk about it right then but soon everyone would know.”

  J.J. had already been planning on paying Don Kelland a visit on her way to the office, but she was even more determined after her talk with Candy. She wanted to start off with some casual questions, not confront him right off, but she was happy to have knowledge of the nephew in her arsenal. She debated briefly about checking the information out first, at least finding out the name of the nephew and if he’d actually worked for Marcotti, but when she walked into Kelland’s office in the municipal building on West Boulder Avenue, she left caution at the door.

  The receptionist, a wide-eyed blonde trying to look many years younger than her age, was her first obstacle. J.J. needed to get past her. Being needy might do the trick.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have an appointment, but I’ve got a real problem and it won’t take long to talk to Mr. Kelland about it,” she said, trying to sound whiny and sincere at the same time.

  “He’s getting ready for a committee meeting at ten. You’ll have to make an appointment for later in the week. He’s really a very busy man, you know.”

  “I’m sure he is, but that just won’t work. That’s too late.”

  The door to Kelland’s private office opened and he popped his head around it. “Cancel Drummond. He’s late as usual and I won’t be played the fool.” He stopped in surprise when he noticed J.J. standing there. She recognized him from various news clips on local TV. She’d always had the impression he was a grandstander. And taller.

  “Mr. Kelland, I need just a few minutes of your time. Please. It’s really, really important,” J.J. called out.

  He looked at his receptionist, who shook her head. After another few seconds of looking at J.J., he invited her in.

  “I’m really in a rush here—a day full of committee meetings, you know. Now what’s bothering your pretty little head?” He indicated she sit in the upholstered chair across from his desk.

  Pretty little head! She tried to look demure as she did so, even though she was steaming inside. Again, she tried for a sweet tone when she spoke.

  “It really is very nice of you to see me without an appointment. I promise I won’t take long. I just have a couple of questions.”

  “Oh?” He brightened and sat up straighter in his chair, sucking in his gut. “You’re from the media?”

  “No. I’m an event planner who used Marcotti catering. It was his final job as a matter of fact.”

  Kelland looked surprised, but J.J. pressed on before he could say anything. “I’d heard that you and Marcotti almost came to blows a couple of times. It seems he thinks you were unfairly blocking his requests to open a sidewalk terrace.”

  She didn’t ask a question, just waited to see the effect and was pleased to see his face go from ashen to beet red in a few seconds.

  “How do you know that? I can’t talk about council business with an outsider, but I wouldn’t go around spreading rumors if I were you.” He stood and looked as threatening as his words sounded.

  She stood her ground. “I’m sure it’s a matter of record, the number of times Marcotti made the changes the council requested but was again turned down. Why were you so against it? Or were you against him?”

  Kelland sputtered, “I’d like you to leave now.”

  He looked down at his desk and started shuffling papers around. When she still didn’t move, he gazed at her again, and this time she actually felt a shiver run through her body. What was it about this guy that made her want to challenge him rather than retreat?

  “I’d also heard he was thinking of running against you in the next election.” Her heart was thumping so hard in her chest, she hoped she wouldn’t do something embarrassing. Like expire.

  “Leave and don’t come back.” He pointed at the door.

  It was such a dramatic gesture, J.J. actually felt herself relax enough to ask, “Did you kill him?”

  Kelland picked up the phone and told his receptionist to call security. This time J.J. took the hint. As she opened the door to leave, she turned and said, “I hope you were more forthcoming with the police.”

  The receptionist was on the phone, obviously talking to security, as J.J. breezed past her trying to look unconcerned. When she made it outdoors without being accosted, she let out the breath she’d been holding. When she was seated behind the wheel of her car, she started shaking. She’d never been so confrontational. Well, maybe once, with her ex-fiancé, when she’d found out he’d been sleeping with a mutual client. What had possessed her this time? She’d never get to ask him another question, the important one about his nephew, that was for sure.

  She wondered if Devine had been to see him yet.

  “You did what?” Skye’s eyeballs almost popped out when J.J. finished running through her visit to Kelland’s office. “Oh man. I don’t know if you’re spunky or stupid. Really.”

  “What could he have done? Had me thrown out, sure. And he was about to do so. But that’s not being jailed or anything, and he certainly wouldn’t raise a hand against me in his own office.” J.J. felt a lot more nonchalant about the whole incident after a double latte and one of the remaining truffles she had stashed in her desk drawer.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe he’ll check the business—our business—and try to see if he can cite us on a few bylaw violations or something. He sounds that vindictive from what you’ve told me.”

  J.J. gulped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

  “It’s all right. It’s very unlikely he’ll do that, especially since I can’t think of anything we’ve done that will cause us any trouble. And besides, if he does, we can always counter with your information. I guess I was just spouting off. After that van attack, I’m really worried about you, you know.”

  “Thanks, Skye. I do know that and I’m worried, too, but I can’t let it stop me.”

  “What will it take to stop you?” Alison asked, standing in the doorway.

 
“I didn’t hear you come in,” J.J. said. “And what will stop me is the police taking a serious look into other possibilities as the killer.”

  Alison sank into the chair next to J.J.’s desk. “I know. And that’s good to hear, because I’m just heading home after night shift and I wanted to tell you the scuttlebutt. You didn’t hear it from me, though.” Alison glared at J.J. and then Skye.

  Both crossed their hearts and gestured zipping their lips.

  “Okay, then. Detective Hashtag—that’s what we call Hastings because he’s always tweeting everything from football scores to drug busts—had us doing surveillance last night on someone he considers a suspect in that very same murder case.”

  J.J. sat up. “Yay. Who?”

  “Candy Fleetwood.”

  “Candy? He’s on the wrong track. Again. I’m certain it’s not Candy.”

  “How would you know?”

  “She’s my trainer at the High Time Fitness Center, and believe me, she’s totally broken up about Marcotti’s death.”

  “You know about their affair?”

  “Yes. In fact, I mentioned it at the last Culinary Capers gathering when we were talking about the murder. You were indisposed at that point.”

  Alison sighed. “And you’ve kept on talking about it, too. Why do you guys do that? I told you it was best to stay out of police business.”

  “Yes, and you also said you couldn’t be involved in anything, so we waited until you’d left the room, as you’ll recall. We didn’t want to put you in a compromising situation.”

  “Very thoughtful, I’m sure. But it looks like I’ve gotten myself into it anyway. What else were you all talking about?”

  “I can’t really remember. So much has happened since then. I know I talked about Ty Devine.”

  “The PI? What’s up with him anyway?”

  J.J. shrugged. “All I know is that he’s still working for Mrs. Marcotti, only searching for the murderer rather than the mistress. I did also say that I really don’t think that Candy Fleetwood is the murderer and that there are tons more people out there with a motive to kill him.”