by Mary Kennedy
“Are you allowed to tell us anything about the case?” I asked her. “Don’t say anything if you’re not comfortable talking about it. We understand.”
She flashed me a grateful smile. “I suppose it’s okay to share this, since it’s a matter of public record,” Sam began. “In case anyone’s wondering, Chico was married at one time to a woman named Lisa Ortez”—Lucinda let out a little gasp and then quickly covered her mouth—“but his current marital status is unclear. The records must exist somewhere, but we don’t have them in the U.S.”
“Do you mean he was married to someone back in South America?” I asked. Funny, but Ali had suspected Chico had a wife and children tucked away somewhere. I remember she’d mentioned it to me the night she introduced me to Chico, but I wasn’t sure if she totally believed it. From what she’d told me, her brief relationship with him was already in a downward spiral and she didn’t confront him on it. What would be the point? Chico would surely lie to her. He liked to pass himself off as single and available.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.” Sam’s voice was clipped, and it was obvious that was all she was going to say at this time.
“Is there any chance that some of his relatives are in the States?” Minerva asked. She turned to her sister. “Do you remember the shouting we heard that night?”
Rose nodded. “I do. Someone was hollering in Spanish or maybe it was Portuguese. I could only make out a few words here and there, but the tone certainly wasn’t friendly. I studied both those languages in school because our father did a lot of business in Latin America. Both Minerva and I used to be fluent, but that was many years ago.”
“Did you tell the police about this?” Sam asked.
“I’ve already told the police all about this, dear. I gave them a full accounting the night of the . . . incident.” The incident. No one seemed to be calling it a murder. At least not yet.
“Yes, of course you did,” Sam said, looking weary. She shook her head as if to clear it and bit back a yawn. “These late nights are getting to me.” Sam had dark circles under her eyes, and I thought that being a police detective wasn’t nearly as glamorous as they made it out to be in shows like Major Crimes and CSI: Miami. Sam had come up in the ranks and earned the respect of grizzled veterans on the force, but I think it had taken a toll on her personal life. She never said much about her home life, except everyone knew she was divorced with no children.
“Rose, did Chico have South American friends here in Savannah?” I asked. “Perhaps that was the source of the shouts you heard.” I slid a tiny slice of key lime on her plate and she smiled her thanks. Rose eats delicately like a cat, taking her time as she samples tiny portions of every single dessert.
“Not that I know of.” She looked at Sam, her blue eyes keen and expectant. “I imagine you’re trying to track down everyone who might have known him.”
“Yes, of course. Anyone who might . . .” Her voice trailed off, and I wondered if she’d said too much.
“Anyone who might have had a reason to kill him,” Dorien said flatly. “That’s what all of us should be concentrating on.” She directed a level look at Sam. “If we can do anything to help the police, we’d like to, you know.”
Sam nodded. “I appreciate that, I really do.” She gave a rueful smile. “I don’t think my captain is into dream analysis,” she said apologetically. “I’ve heard some amazing things come out of this group, but not everyone feels the way I do. Detectives tend to be sort of a hard-boiled lot.” She shrugged, and we locked eyes for a moment. I could see that Sam was softening her earlier stance and was starting to appreciate the work we did in the Dream Club.
“That they do,” Sybil agreed. “I’ve read hundreds of mysteries, and the police always groan when someone wants to bring in a psychic as a consultant. Psychics can be powerful resources,” she said earnestly, “and proper dream analysis can be just as helpful.”
The meeting broke up an hour or so later, but Gina turned up just as Minerva and Rose were making their way down the steps.
“I got home from Charleston a little early,” she said apologetically. “Is there still time to have a cup of coffee?”
“Of course,” Ali said, reaching for the pot. “And we have loads of desserts.”
“Just coffee, please,” Gina said. “My sister made a big family meal, topped off with homemade cheesecake, and I’m absolutely stuffed.”
I had the feeling there was something on her mind, and I suspected it involved the investigation into Chico’s death. I poured us mugs of hazelnut decaf, and we sat around the cozy kitchen table. Barney purred around my ankles while Scout curled up in the empty chair. I bent down and scooped Barney onto my lap, running my hands over his soft fur.
“I heard an interesting rumor when I was in Charleston,” Gina said. She was perched on the edge of her chair, her voice tight with tension. “Apparently there’s a story going around town about Chico.”
“About his death?” Ali asked quickly.
“No, something else. Something very unexpected, that hits close to home,” she said, locking eyes with Ali. “My sister has a friend on the city council here in Savannah. The word on the street is that Chico was planning a big real estate deal when he died. A major deal,” she added for emphasis. “A couple of people on the zoning commission knew about it, but it was pretty hush-hush and hadn’t made the newspapers. At least, not yet.”
“Chico? A real estate deal?” I said incredulously. “I can’t believe it.” I thought of the cheesy dance instructor in the tight pants and couldn’t picture him as the South’s answer to Donald Trump. His own studio was sorely in need of repair; there was nothing high-end about the establishment. So why would anyone think he was planning on being a real estate mogul?
Gina gave a ladylike snort. “It was a surprise to me, too. But I think you should know what he was up to.” She gave a dismissive little wave of her hands. “I’ll tell you what I heard, and you can decide for yourself whether or not to believe it. At least you’ll have the facts.”
Ali reached for the creamer and paused, her hand in midair. “Now you’ve got me really curious. What are they saying about this deal?” Her tone was casual, unconcerned, but I saw a telltale red flush begin to creep up her neck.
“Did you know Chico was planning to buy up all four shops on this street?” Gina’s tone had a steely edge to it, and Ali drew back. I saw a pulse beating in her throat and wondered what was upsetting her. Chico was dead and her job at the studio was over. So what did any of this have to do with her?
“All four shops? Do you mean Minerva and Rose’s flower shop, Luigi’s, and the old movie house?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“And your shop,” Gina pressed on. “You have a yearly lease, right? And it’s up pretty soon, right?”
“Yes, it is. But how was Chico involved in this? I don’t understand.” Ali’s voice faltered.
“Chico was in negotiations with the two brothers who own this building. They’ve been interested in selling for a long time, and Chico jumped on the opportunity.” As Gina spoke, I glanced around the tiny kitchen with the outdated appliances and the chipped Formica countertop. It was hard to imagine this being a golden “opportunity” for anyone.
“How did your sister know—” Ali said, and then quickly switched gears. “How would Chico have the money to buy up a building? I thought he was just scraping by with the dance studio.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “He worked twelve hours a day, but the studio wasn’t a gold mine. I figured Chico just made expenses and maybe a little extra to pay you.”
Gina snorted. “Chico had a lot of disposable income, but not from the dance studio. I don’t know where he got his money, but I bet the police are looking into it right now.” She kept her gaze locked on Ali’s face, her own expression serious. “And these buildings would go for a song. They can’t be rehabbed. It wo
uld cost a fortune to renovate them and you’d never get your money back.”
“But why would he buy them up?” Ali asked. “None of them are showing a profit. Who would want to buy a failing business?” She kept her tone light, but her lips had thinned into a straight line and her jaw was clenched. I knew she was keeping something back. But what?
“That’s the part I’m not sure about.” Gina paused, her gaze bright and intent. She was wearing a wide enameled bracelet on her wrist and kept fiddling with it. It was blood-red with a black snake curled head to tail. An odd image and yet strangely familiar. Had I seen it before? “You had no idea about any of this? You’re hearing this for the first time?”
“I had absolutely no idea about any of this,” Ali said calmly. She seemed to have gotten herself under control and took a sip of her coffee. “Did Minerva and Rose have a clue this was in the works? I can’t imagine them ever being willing to sell that place. They’ve run it for decades; they have an emotional attachment to it. It’s a family business.”
“A nice sentiment, but if the price is right, everybody is willing to sell.” Gina gave a cynical laugh. “Or maybe Chico had an ace up his sleeve—he might have figured out a way he could pressure them to sell. I’m not sure about the details. All I can tell you is that this information came from a very good source.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I can tell you that I had no idea about any of his plans.” Ali shifted in her seat, twin spots of color popping out in her cheeks. I glanced up, surprised at the note of defensiveness in her tone. “If I lose this building, my whole business would go under. It would mean the end of everything I’ve worked for.” Tears welled in her eyes, and her voice took on a sad little note. “I don’t how I could survive losing this shop,” she said, looking around the cozy kitchen.” I don’t think I could bear the idea of starting all over again.” She sat back and took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. “And frankly, I find it a little hard to believe.”
Her gaze was cool and direct, and her voice was steady as she folded her hands calmly on the table. I looked at her finely chiseled profile for a long moment. She was sitting as still as a statue. Her back was ramrod straight, but a tiny muscle was jumping in her jaw and her lower lip was trembling, almost imperceptibly. It was the only flaw I could see in her perfectly composed demeanor. My breath caught in my throat and my spirits sank.
I knew she was lying.
17
The kitchen was silent except for the monotonous ticking sound of the clock cat’s tail swishing back and forth on the wall clock. Gina had finally left, and Ali and I were alone in the kitchen. Ali had her hands wrapped around the mug of coffee, staring into space. She glanced at me briefly, and then looked away. Her eyes were guarded, and I waited for her to explain herself, to confide in me. I studied her face for a full minute, and then I couldn’t keep still a second longer.
“Ali,” I began, “you need to come clean with me. You knew about Chico and his plan to buy up the buildings, I am absolutely positive about this.”
“It was that obvious?” she asked wearily. Her face reddened slightly, and she still refused to look at me directly. “If you picked it up on it, then I guess Gina did, as well.”
I reached across the table and laid my hand lightly over hers. “I think it was only apparent to me,” I told her. “And that’s because we have a history, remember? You and I know things about each other that no one else could possibly figure out. You need to tell me exactly what’s going on here, Ali. I want to help you.”
“It’s complicated,” she said, finally meeting my gaze. “I didn’t want to talk about it earlier because I was too embarrassed. And maybe I was a little ashamed, I don’t know.” She gave a hopeless shrug.
“Embarrassed?” I blinked. I hadn’t been expecting this. “Why were you embarrassed and ashamed?”
“Because I feel like a complete idiot! I found out about the sale quite by accident; a customer who’s on the city planning commission mentioned it. Chico wasn’t even going to tell me. Unbelievable, right? When I confronted him that night, he admitted it. I was going to lose everything, and he didn’t care. How could he be so heartless? And how could I have been so stupid not to see it?” She paused, leaning back in the chair, rubbing her neck as if she was trying to will away the tension she must have been holding in her shoulders.
I was so focused on her obvious distress that I nearly missed a key word. And then it hit me. That night. She’d said that night. My heart thudded in my chest. “Ali,” I said urgently, “what night? You don’t mean to tell me you were over there the night he died, do you?” One look at her crestfallen expression confirmed it. “Oh my God, you do mean that!”
A sharp intake of breath. “I know, it looks awful,” she said, giving me a wounded look. “But I just went over there to talk to him, and I swear he was fine when I left. I was only there for a few minutes while you were taking a shower. I should have said something at the time and now it’s too late.”
I felt like shaking her. “Too late? Ali, of course it’s not too late, but you have to tell the police right now. You can’t wait another minute. Suppose they find out? It makes you look suspicious”—she flinched and I backpedaled—“it makes it look like you’re hiding something.”
“But I’m not lying!” she said quickly and then amended, “Well, I didn’t say that I’d been over there that night, but they didn’t ask me.” She paused, flushing. “Not in so many words, I mean.”
“Ali, you’ve made a terrible error in judgment.” I plunked my elbows on the kitchen table and rubbed my eyes with my hands. I felt a migraine coming on, but this was no time to search for an aspirin.
“What should I do?” she asked in a small voice.
“Come clean,” I snapped. “That’s all you have to do. It’s a no-brainer.” I couldn’t hide my irritation with my kid sister. Ali’s taken the path of least resistance at other times in her life, and it’s always ended badly. I knew I had to step in immediately and insist that she do the right thing this time. “Call Sam Stiles right now.” I reached behind me, grabbed my cell phone from the kitchen counter, and passed it to her.
“It’s late,” she protested. “Suppose she’s sleeping—”
“It’s not that late,” I said sharply. “Tell her you need to see her and set up an appointment for tomorrow. You can go down to the station house first thing in the morning or she can come here.” I locked eyes with her, and she looked vulnerable, frightened. “Either way, you have to do it!”
Ali’s fingers were trembling as she clasped the cell phone. I got up to give Barney and Scout their evening treats. They like a handful of Temptations snacks before going to bed and begin circling around my feet at nine thirty or so to remind me.
Ali stood up and wandered over to gaze out the window, the cell phone clasped to her ear. I refilled their water bowls and heard snatches of conversation. Ali was talking softly, but rapidly, and her voice wobbled a little. It was probably one of the most difficult conversations she had ever had to face. When she finally flipped the lid closed, she turned to me, blowing out a little puff of air.
“Well, it’s set for ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” she said, licking her lips nervously. “And you were right. They want me to come down to the station house.” She stared at me. “That makes it seem more official, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “I think they’ll take a statement. You might not be talking to Sam; they may figure she’s too close to the case. You’ll probably have to speak with one of the other detectives.”
“I’d rather talk to Sam,” Ali said carefully.
You could have talked to her the night it happened, or last night. I bit back my angry retort; it was pointless to argue with her. “It’s not up to you at this point,” I said, trying to unclench my jaw. “The captain will make the final decision. All you can do is take a deep breath and
tell the truth.”
* * *
“So it’s more complicated than I thought,” I said hesitantly. “I never thought Ali would be a suspect, and of course the whole idea of her committing a murder is ridiculous but . . .” I let my voice trail off as the waitress set a roasted veggie wrap in front of me and a fish and chips platter at Noah’s place.
She scurried away for two sweet teas, and Noah reached over and patted my hand, his eyes locked on mine. “It’s going to be okay,” he said softly.
I thought it might be awkward, having lunch at Oleander with Noah, but instead I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Noah always had a way of making me feel secure; that there was no problem too tough to solve. The two years we’d spent apart hadn’t changed anything. When I’d phoned him last night, suggesting a quick lunch today, he’d immediately agreed.
I filled him in on Chico’s death and brought him up to speed on the investigation. Ali had insisted on going down to the police station by herself, and I glanced nervously at my watch, wondering how the interview was going. Ali had seemed upset this morning, and I knew she would be nervous talking to a detective.
“It’s insane that they think she could be a suspect, right? Anyone who knows Ali knows that she wouldn’t hurt a fly.” I sighed. “She even rescues June bugs and puts them outside on the grass. How many people do you know would do that? Does that sound like a murderer to you?”
“Just because they’re interviewing her doesn’t mean they think she’s a suspect,” Noah pointed out. “She could be a material witness in the case. After all, she was one of the last people to see Chico alive. There might be some details of the crime scene that she could share with the detectives; some clue that no one else has picked up on. It’s too bad she didn’t come forward with this information from the get-go, but that’s water under the bridge.”