Stick a Fork In It

by Robin Allen

  Miles also said that Troy and Ginger still had some nice left for each other, but it appeared to be sporadic. Maybe they made up and decided to stick around after everyone left. They drink a couple of beers in the kitchen, then Ginger coaxes him up to the catwalk and asks him to show her his rope trick. She ties the rope to the cell when he’s not looking, then after he hangs himself, she…calls a taxi? No. Leaving her car at the scene would bring the police to her front door if they ruled it a homicide.

  Todd was the least likely culprit, which meant that he should be at the top of my list. I have imagined killing a lot of people, but never my own flesh and blood. Not seriously, anyway. (Ursula and Nina are not my flesh and blood.) It was improbable that Todd had killed Troy, but not impossible.

  In high school, they had worked as a team on the football field, but as quarterback, Troy got all the glory. I assumed that he and Todd were equal partners in the restaurant, but Troy was obviously still quarterbacking, still grabbing attention away from Todd with his antics and drinking and contrary opinions. Had Troy been the favorite at home, too? In the marines? Had Todd lived in Troy’s shadow into adulthood? Assuming sibling rivalry was a good enough reason to kill him, Todd could have lured Troy to the catwalk as easily as Ginger could have and tied the rope to the cell. And then Todd stands back and watches his brother leap to his death? If that were the case, I would rather believe it had been an accident.

  Danny had a similar history and motives as Todd, but not the family ties, so I could more easily believe him as the murderer. He confronts Troy with a list of grievances, saying he’s tired of them blowing him off. They’re not in high school, and the name-calling needs to stop. He’s the only one with restaurant experience, and if they don’t want him to walk, they need to start showing him some respect. Troy laughs at him, calls him a dork, tells him to take his whining to a daycare. Danny ties the rope to the cell, then gets his revenge and the last laugh as Troy realizes what’s happening. And if Danny did it for those reasons, was Todd’s life in danger too?

  And what about Miles? Surely he had been a victim of Troy’s humiliating rope trick. He said he was in the dog house for the delayed construction, but the only building projects that come in on time and under budget are built by five-year-olds and made of Legos. Troy had berated Miles about the sinks in front of his crew, probably not for the first time, but Miles had told me he didn’t have any problems with Troy. Did Miles not consider it abuse, or was he so used to people taking out their disappointments on him that it didn’t register? Or did he not care because he was already planning his deadly revenge? It may not be a perfect motive, but I didn’t need it to be Michelangelo’s statue of David.

  By the time I turned onto my street, I had cooked up enough circumstantial evidence to keep several teams of defense lawyers working until Super Bowl LX. If one of my four suspects hadn’t killed Troy Sharpe, I would start being nice to Nina.

  For the first time in weeks, I felt content. I had solved the years-long mystery of why Drew left, even if it had presented new issues. My hand felt stronger every day. And my relationship with Jamie was on the mend. All I needed was my house finished, and everything would finally be back to normal.

  The feeling lasted the length of five houses, with my contentment turning to dread as I pulled into my driveway.

  twenty

  John Without was home and in the back yard playing with the puppy. Ordinarily, seeing him would provoke mild disgust in me, not dread. But two issues presented themselves.

  First, I hadn’t seen him since the previous night when he had told me with his eyes that he was hungry for cooked goose and mine looked delicious. It wasn’t so much an issue, I realized, as an opportunity to apologize to him without John With there to referee. John Without could bring out both guns and unload, which I deserved. I had the smidgiest glimmer of hope that he might go easy on me because his normally stern face looked something like not-ticked-off, thanks to Liza.

  This perfect opportunity, however, was spoiled by issue number two: I was wearing his pants.

  He would see them as soon as I stepped out of the Jeep and know that I had been at their house—alone with his boyfriend, whom I have an innocent crush on—and imagine all sorts of things about how I ended up in some pants that had been in a bag in their bedroom. Especially since he had restricted the amount of time John With and I spent together by making them leave for the gallery so early every morning.

  Everything he imagined would be ludicrous, but I’ve always thought that the “by reason of insanity” defense meant not that the reason for their actions was insanity, but that they had used their own insane reasoning when deciding to commit their crime.

  I couldn’t leave because Jamie would arrive in an hour to pick me up for dinner at Daisy’s. I had no choice but to approach the back gate.

  John stopped pretend-kissing Liza with a fluffy pink stuffed bear and stared at me. “Get in here,” he gruffed. “Now.”

  John Without has always been catty, not commanding, and his urgent tone scared me. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to do this with no witnesses. But I couldn’t turn back. I opened the gate to put my goose’s neck on the chopping block.

  “What are you wearing?” he demanded.

  “I know it looks bad, but give me a chance to explain.”

  “Those are positively hideous. Get inside before the neighbors see you.”

  x x x

  “He never recognized them?” Jamie asked as we browsed a shelf of California reds at Central Market.

  On our way to the store for wine, I had hit the lowlights of the past twenty-four hours with the Johns.

  “I guess they didn’t register without the matching top,” I said.

  Jamie groaned. “Thanks for that visual.” He held up a bottle of Franciscan Merlot.

  “Perfect,” I said.

  On the drive to Daisy’s, he told me that Deliciousness Magazine had accepted his proposal to write a monthly column for them on how to be your own food critic.

  “Jamie! A column! This is huge.”

  “International,” he said with modest pride. I couldn’t see the dimple on his left cheek, but he smiled the kind of smile that brings it out. “I’m thinking of calling it Variorum.”

  “Sounds like a foodborne illness. What does it mean?”

  “Literally, it’s Latin for a text that contains notes from multiple scholars or critics. If it takes off, they say they want me to be part of their teaching team, giving workshops and classes around the country.”

  “I am so proud of you, Jamie.”

  “Thanks.” He patted my knee but didn’t leave his hand there. “Dana White said she saw you at CapTex today.”

  “Did she mention my pants?”

  Jamie laughed. “Nina’s false eyelashes would come unglued if she saw you wearing something like that. Is that why she wants to take you shopping?”

  “She wants to take me shopping to prove to Mitch that she’s making an effort with me. I called and canceled the first trip today, but she didn’t try to reschedule. Yet she’ll call twenty times to reschedule an appointment with a dog whisperer to discover why Dolce and Gabbana growl at the ficus.”

  “Make sure you buy some yoga pants. I can’t have my girlfriend’s wardrobe be a topic of conversation among my friends and colleagues.”

  “I’ll get some ruby red ones.”

  “Why were you at CapTex?”

  “Capital Pun—” Whoa! I couldn’t let all of my guards down around Jamie. “Capital of Texas is supplying equipment to the Sharpe place.”

  Nothing gets by Jamie, and I knew he would make a note, but not a big deal, of my slip. “Not following yet,” he said.

  I told him what Jesse said about their switch to cash payments.

  “It’s unusual,” he agreed, “but how does
that tie in with Troy Sharpe’s death?”

  “Maybe he had financial difficulties.”

  “Paying cash would indicate a surplus of money, which is not usually a problem.”

  “Since I’m trying to think of reasons why Troy was murdered, help me think of problems. Why would someone suddenly start paying cash?”

  “The most obvious is that they’re laundering money.”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!” I said, then changed my tone. “I don’t see them as drug dealers, though.”

  “It doesn’t have to be drugs,” Jamie said. “They could be hiding legal profits to avoid paying taxes.”

  “They haven’t opened yet, so there aren’t any profits.”

  “Money laundering or not, Troy was carrying cash on him at some point. Depending on what he had to pay for at CapTex, the bill could run into five figures.”

  “A robbery gone wrong,” I said. “Which, dang it, would turn all of the construction workers into suspects, as well as pretty much everyone he came into contact with in the past couple of weeks.”

  “Assuming they knew he had money on him. Did you see any?”

  “No!” I said, brightening. “If Troy had that much cash on him, he would have flashed every dollar of it.”

  “The police report didn’t mention any cash.”

  “Which Todd or Ginger would have reported missing, especially if they did it and are trying to pin the blame on someone else.”

  “Did Troy gamble?” Jamie asked.

  “Besides with his life? Can you find out for me?”

  “Are you going to tell me what the restaurant is?”

  “Not even if you put me in solitary confinement.”

  x x x

  The blond, blue-eyed Forrest kids were waiting for us at the front gate, Jacob waving at us like Arnold Horshack at Mr. Kotter. As soon as we drove through, Logan hopped into the back seat, leaving her younger brother to corral their Dalmatian/Lab, Othello, and shut the gate behind us.

  “Hey TeePee, hey JJ,” Logan said.

  Jamie and I don’t like how kids nowadays call adults Mr. or Miss First Name. “Just Jamie,” he had requested the first time she addressed him as Mr. Jamie, so that’s what she called him. Eventually it had been shortened to JJ. TeePee was the best a two-year-old learning to talk could make of Auntie Poppy. Technically I’m Logan’s second cousin, but I’m glad Daisy didn’t try to teach her to say Cousin Poppy or I might have had to answer a page for SinPee at a Hannah Montana concert a few months ago when Logan lost track of me at the concession stand.

  “What’s for supper, Squirt?” Jamie asked.

  “You’ll see,” Logan said with an I’ve-got-a-secret lilt. “And don’t worry, TeePee, nothing had a face or a mother.”

  We arrived at the house, and after hugs, snacks, and wine, Erik and Jacob whisked Jamie off in the golf cart to show him the new rain barrel watering system at their plant nursery next door. As soon as the back door closed, I pulled Daisy onto the front porch, leaving Logan at the stove.

  “I talked to Drew after yoga,” I said. “Go ahead and say it.”

  Daisy lit a citronella torch. “You weren’t wearing Prince’s pants, I hope.”

  “He’s been in Colorado dealing with some serious health issues.” I relayed Drew’s story, and she made the appropriate sympathetic murmurs and comments.

  The front door opened, and Logan said, “Ten minutes, Mom. Ring the chow bell.”

  “Sure, sweetie,” Daisy said, then turned back to me. “So he’s been in Denver this whole time, recovering? Does Jamie know he’s back?”

  “No, but I can’t keep it from him much longer.”

  “It makes things a little knotty, doesn’t it?”

  “Honestly, Daze, it doesn’t. I’m still sorting through old hurts, but I don’t feel a connection to Drew anymore.”

  “You only just found out what happened. You might feel differently after your emotions catch up to your reason.”

  “And I quote, ‘You spend too much time in your head.’”

  “It’s true, but reason isn’t all bad. If Drew hadn’t left, you two would be married, and he would be here with you tonight instead of Jamie.”

  “If Drew and I were married, we would be running Markham’s by now, and we would both be at the restaurant tonight.”

  “My point is that you two had a very strong bond, and it might be prudent to wait awhile before you decide anything.”

  “I’ve already decided I want Jamie,” I said. “Unless he does something dumb again. In the meantime I’ll watch things play out with Drew and Ursula.”

  “What?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know.”

  x x x

  Over a dessert of blueberry pie, Jamie said, “I don’t know if it’s my wonderful dinner companions or that I’ve been eating out a lot lately, but this is one of the best meals my taste buds have enjoyed in weeks.”

  Daisy, Erik, and Jacob smiled at Logan. “Thanks, JJ,” Logan said.

  “You made this, Squirt?” Jamie asked, not hiding his astonishment. I was a little astonished myself.

  “Every dish,” Erik said.

  That explained why the entire Forrest clan had been on point during dinner, paying special attention to Jamie. I thought it was because they missed him while he and I were broken up.

  “The pie, too?” Jamie said.

  Logan smiled as if she were an Olympic athlete standing in the center podium wearing a gold medal around her neck. And in a way, she had won the gold. It was food critic Jamie Sherwood, not her friend JJ, whom she had dazzled.

  “She’s going to be a chef,” Jacob said, “and I’m going to be a race car driver!”

  “Formula One or Nascar?” Jamie asked.

  Jacob looked at his dad, then said, “Both!”

  “I’ll be your first sponsor,” Jamie said, then turned to Logan. “Well, Chef Squirt, with your permission, I’d like to write a formal review of this dinner and use it in my first Variorum column for Deliciousness Magazine.”

  Logan looked distressed. “I thought you liked everything.”

  “I do,” Jamie said.

  “Variorum sounds bad,” I said, “but it isn’t. It’s Latin.”

  “This is the first we’ve heard about a column,” Erik said. “What are you going to write about?”

  “It’s a monthly column for foodies and budding critics,” Jamie said. “I’ll describe how to assess dishes individually and as part of a meal, and give them tips for describing flavors and textures.” He took another bite of pie and winked at Logan. “So instead of saying this is perfect, they could learn to describe it as tasting like you’re eating the ripest berries straight off the vine. Readers can use what they learn to become better home cooks or maybe start a blog in their own neighborhood or city.”

  I looked at Jamie. “It needs a better name.”

  “How about Taste Buds?” Logan suggested.

  Jamie nodded. “I like it, Squirt. Incisive and piquant but familiar.”

  After more pie and coffee, Jamie and I left a beaming Forrest family on the porch and headed back into Austin proper.

  “You tired?” Jamie asked, lightly rubbing the back of my neck.

  “I’ve got enough steam for a cappuccino. What do you have in mind?”

  “Irish coffee at Markham’s?”

  Unlike Drew, who uses distance and a practiced serenity to mask his true feelings, Jamie is easy-going and really does take things as they come. He prefers to coax rather than force, question rather than assume, wait and see rather than lead a charge. When I let him back into my life a few weeks ago, he wanted to resume our relationship as soon as possible, but he also understo
od and respected the damage that had been done. And while he never poked his nose into my business, he would not be happy about the return of Drew Cooper.

  He noticed me hesitate. “I hope you’re paying those hamsters for overtime,” he said. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Philip Seymour Hoffman and Matthew Fox,” he said, then added, “in bit roles.”

  I leaned my head against the seat and looked up through the sunroof. My Boyfriend’s Back. “How did you know?”

  “Ursula told me.”

  I shot up. “Ursula!”

  “She called a couple of days ago. Said she’d trade the first interview with her about her cookbook for any information I had on a guy named Drew Cooper.”

  “You’ve known this whole time? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He removed his hand from my neck. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was waiting for the right time.”

  We rode in silence until he stopped at the light at the Y in Oak Hill. He was more annoyed than mad, and he was probably annoyed with himself as a reporter for being blindsided with something like this. He wouldn’t stay in the dark for long, though. He would dig around and find out all he needed to know about Drew. Probably already had.

  “Trust goes both ways,” he finally said.

  “I know,” I said. “I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.”

  He replaced his hand on the back of my neck.

  “What did you tell Ursula?” I asked.

  “I told her to talk to you.”

  “And you want to go to Markham’s right now because…”

  “I heard from a new source that George and Laura are going to be there, and I want to verify it.”